


My best friend and my best love

by bloodylullabies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mild Language, Muggle History, No Smut, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2019-10-20 15:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 71
Words: 188,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17624738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodylullabies/pseuds/bloodylullabies
Summary: A behind-the-scenes Harry Potter story set in a slightly different world – a world in which immortal vampires and werewolves roam the earth. A world in which two former Death Eaters, Walden Macnair and Antonin Dolohov, seek redemption, with the help of a girl who may be more than the ordinary witch she appears to be. The story begins in July 1995.





	1. I am the shadow on the moon at night

**Author's Note:**

> This story is completed, but I'm re-editing as I update and may add a chapter or two along the way. I will update regularly.
> 
> If you think I should add a tag, please let me know.

Matt was still playing on the Mega Drive when he became aware of footsteps in the hall. Normally, it wouldn't make him pause, but he couldn't recognise whom the footsteps belonged to. He knew his parents' footsteps as well as his sister's, and those didn't belong to them. They were heavier, somehow.

He glanced at the alarm clock and saw that it was almost three in the morning. He placed the controller on the game console and turned off the television. He sat still for a moment, straining his ears, and the footsteps came again – near his parents' bedroom, as far as he could make out. There was the sound of an object crashing to the floor. That decided him.

Grabbing his bat, he opened the door to his sister's room. They rarely used the door that separated their two bedrooms, now that they weren't kids anymore, but it wasn’t sealed off, either. Matt made his way to the bed as quietly as he could. His sister always slept with the curtains open, for some reason, and thanks to the moonlight – the full moon had occurred just a few days ago – he could see as well as if he'd switched the light on.

"Evey," he whispered, "wake up."

She stirred drowsily. "Wuzzgoinon?"

"I think there's someone in the house," he explained in hushed tones.

She was much more awake, all of a sudden. Her eyes flew open, and she sat up in the bed. "Are you sure?" Matt nodded. "Downstairs?" she asked. She trusted him without hesitation. Matt had been afraid that they would grow apart, after Evey received her Hogwarts letter completely out of the blue, all those years ago, but they’d remained close despite this life-changing event. Witch or not, she was his sister. In seven years, rarely a week had gone by when she didn’t send a letter to her family – and often to him in particular. He’d always loved to hear about her classes, about magic, about that hidden world that lay just beyond what his Muggle eyes could see. Who wouldn’t? It was all of his favourite fantasy books come to life. All the fairy tales were true.

"No, here in the corridor, I think."

"That's weird. What sort of stupid thief would come upstairs and risk getting caught?" Evey shook her head in puzzlement, then seemed to notice his bat. "What are you doing with that? Matt, it's a person, not a zombie. You're not supposed to bash people's head in, even if they're breaking and entering. With a father who works in law enforcement, you ought to know that, and also that legitimate defence is not as easy to prove as people think."

Even in the middle of the night, barely awake, she could be annoying. Witch or not, that had never changed. "What do you propose, then? And what if he has a gun, huh?"

"I'm not sure what good the bat will do if he has a gun, you twit." She discarded her bed sheets and stood up. "I'll get my wand, just in case, but most likely he'll run off when we open the door. They usually do," she said matter-of-factly.

"I thought you weren't supposed to use it when there are Muggles around."

"I can use magic to defend myself. That's why I said 'just in case'." Matt rolled his eyes at her but said nothing as she opened the drawer where she kept her wand when she was home for the holidays.

He saw her frown. "What?"

"It's gone," she murmured.

"Gone? Your wand is gone?" he repeated numbly. "Bloody hell!"

"As you say." She turned around. She had gone very pale. "Matt, we need to get out of here."

"Well, you probably put it somewhere else, that's all. You're not particularly orderly," he pointed out, indicating the clothes scattered around the room.

She shook her head. "No, I _always_ put it there. You don't understand, Matt. There's no time. We're in danger. We need to leave, and fast." She walked toward the window and glanced outside. "If the intruder’s upstairs, we'll need to jump, but it's not that high."

"Out the _window_? Are you crazy?" Matt asked her incredulously. The fall would certainly not kill them, but they would break some bones for sure.

"Just do as I say!" She was starting to panic, he could tell. Hell, she looked ready to cry. Why was she so scared, all of a sudden? She was the one who'd told him he was overreacting!

Before he could try to reason with her, the door that led to the corridor banged open.

The man who stepped in was at least 6'8'' and built like a heavyweight boxer. His long grey hair matted his face and he was grinning in a disturbing manner. His teeth were stained and looked oddly sharp, as if they'd been filed. He seemed to be covered in mud, but in the moonlight, it was hard to tell… Surely it couldn't be blood? The man had a wand in each hand, and Matt recognised Evey's as one of them – maple wood, 10 and a half inch, with a unicorn hair core. Wandlore was one of the most fascinating thing about the wizarding world, in Matt's opinion. It was a pity that the wand had never responded to him, and never would.

His sister was gaping in horror, not at the sight of her wand in a stranger’s hand, but as though she’d recognised the man.

He didn’t look familiar to Matt, but he certainly didn't look like a common thief. Matt put himself in front of his sister, who stood frozen near the window, and he raised the bat protectively. "Don't come any closer!" His voice shook a little. "My father is armed, so you'd better get out of here while you can, you creep."

The man let out a barking laugh. "How adorable," he said in a rasping voice. He had a faint accent, possibly German, or Eastern European. "The foolish knight in shining pyjamas steps in to defend the princess." He laughed again. "Lad, your daddy ain't coming to save you, not tonight. Or any other night," he added with a feral grin. He started to walk toward them at a leisurely pace. "You should have listened to your sister and run while you could, boy. You might even have made it out alive. It's not you I'm after."

"Who the hell are you?" Matt demanded. The terror was clear in his voice now, but that was the last thing on his mind. At this distance, he could tell that the man was indeed covered in blood. "What do you _want_?" The intruder stopped in front of them, towering over them both. His eyes were an odd honey colour and they seemed to reflect the moonlight that filtered through the window. "Step back! Last warning!" Matt raised the bat higher and prepared to swing it with all his might.

"What a pity. You would have made a decent cub," the man said cryptically as he picked Matt up and threw him across the room as if he weighed nothing. He heard Evey scream, but then he landed against the wall, head first, and the world faded out of focus.


	2. Even the very wise cannot see all ends

In the dream, Evey was wrestling a wolf. It wasn't an ordinary wolf, nor even a werewolf, if anything she’d read about them was accurate. This beast was enormous, larger than a bear.

She hated that sort of dreams, the ones in which she couldn’t control her actions. Why the hell wasn't she using magic? She was no match for the fearsome wolf, not in a physical fight.

Suddenly, the wolf bit her, sinking its sharp fangs in her shoulder. Evey cried out in pain and woke up with a start when she realised that the pain was real.

As her eyes flew open, she almost expected to find the huge beast on top of her. _Silly girl, it was just a dream._ Well, it had been more of a nightmare. The pain, though… It had _felt_ real, but the sensation was already fading away.

With a shock, she noted that she was not in her bedroom at home. She was in… Was it the infirmary, at Hogwarts? What was she doing here? She had just graduated!

"Ah, Miss Kane. It's good to see you awake." A deep, calm voice called from her right.

Evey shifted her gaze to identify the owner of the voice. "Professor Dumbledore? What happened? Why am I here?" she asked warily. She had a feeling that something was _very_ wrong.

"You have been here for two days, Miss Kane. We were quite worried about you. Do you remember anything?"

"No, I don't," she began to say, then frowned in sudden concentration. Something _had_ happened, something to do with her wand. No, with her brother. Erratic images from her dream flashed in her mind. Was the wolf important, somehow? She huffed in frustration. "I'm sorry, Professor, but it's a bit murky. I think I was home… Didn’t I return home after graduation?" She had. She was almost certain of it. She remembered visiting the Ministry about her apprenticeship, just a few days ago, and joking with Matt about being an adult now, and having to find work and pay rent and becoming increasingly boring as the years flew by. It couldn’t have all been a dream. Those were real memories.

"You Apparated in Hogsmeade on Tuesday, at dawn, and hammered on the front door of the Hog's Head, pleading for help, until the owner answered. According to him, you passed out soon afterwards. He alerted me right away, and you were brought here. I went to your house at once myself, but there was nothing to be done. I'm very sorry," he said softly. The look in the Headmaster’s eyes was frightfully sad. It sent cold shivers down Evey’s spine.

"Sorry about what?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Your family is gone, Miss Kane. They were murdered. We believe that Fenrir Greyback is behind the attack."

Evey didn't question him. She knew that he was telling the truth, because now it was coming back to her – parts of it, anyway. She remembered her brother flying across the room, his head hitting the wall and… No. Please, let her forget that. She didn't _want_ to remember. She felt the tears stream down her cheeks and turned her head; she hated crying in front of other people. She vaguely heard the Headmaster leave, but by then she was sobbing too hard to care.

* * *

"Have the Aurors arrested him already?" Evey asked a few hours later, when she had finally calmed down a little – mainly thanks to a draught Madam Pomfrey had kindly provided. "Greyback, I mean?" She was actually hoping that they hadn't. She wanted to find the werewolf herself and make him pay for what he'd done. Her brother had been only fourteen, for fuck’s sake. Her baby brother, who was always wide-eyed with wonder every time Evey mentioned anything even remotely magical.

"Fenrir Greyback has not been apprehended, I'm afraid. Miss Kane, we believe that he may have been sent after you, personally."

"Of course he was," she cut in. "I'm Muggle-born, and Greyback's one of Voldemort's partisans, isn't he?" Voldemort had returned, and Muggle-borns were one of his favourite people to target, everyone knew that. "But why me, specifically? I’m no one. Or does the wolf murder defenceless Muggles at random?" Evey wouldn't wish this on her worst enemy, but…couldn't Greyback have attacked _another_ Muggle-born's family? Merlin, grief was turning her into a monster. No one deserved this.

"We don't know that, yet. Nor much anything else, as a matter of fact. Are you quite sure that you don't remember Apparating in Hogsmeade, or what Greyback said or did while he was at your house?"

"I told you, Professor, I remember very little. I know that he told my brother he wasn't after him, and that Matt could have made it out alive." That had been just before Greyback killed Matt. Threw him against the wall with such force that his head nearly exploded on impact.

Evey let out a dry sob but did her best to keep her composure. The image was seared into her brain and would forever haunt her dreams, but she would _not_ break down again, not twice in front of the same person.

The rest of her recollection was hazy. She couldn't understand how she'd Apparated; she'd never learned how. She knew the basics, of course, but she’d never dared to attempt it. The possibility of splinching scared her to death.

What surprised her the most, however, was that she was even alive. Being attacked by a werewolf usually meant death, and in a woman's case, it _always_ meant death. A werewolf's bite was fatal to women – even first-years knew that. But, apparently, she hadn't been bitten – or hurt in any way, it seemed, although her clothes had been torn and caked with blood when she'd been brought to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey said that she was as healthy as a horse. Evey couldn't make sense of it and, clearly, neither could Professor Dumbledore. His theory was that Greyback had left her for dead. Indeed, the impressive quantity of blood found in her bedroom belonged to her. The Headmaster couldn't figure out how that was possible, nor could Madam Pomfrey – and if they couldn't, who could?

"It will probably come back to you when the shock has faded somewhat. In the meantime, you will be transferred to another secure location. You will be perfectly safe there, and in good company." He had also told her that the _Daily Prophet_ claimed that she had perished with the rest of her family, and that local Muggle newspapers had published a likely story about a breaking-and-entering gone wrong. The entire world thought her dead. Professor Dumbledore assured Evey that it was for the best; no one would come looking for her if they believed her dead.

"What's going to happen to me? I can't stay hidden forever, Professor." To think that a few days ago she was going to begin her life, her adult life. The world was open to her, a place full of opportunities. She already knew exactly what she wanted to do, but it wasn't the sort of job you could do while hiding in a top-secret location.

"No, indeed not. It will simply be until it is safe for you out there, Miss Kane. Weeks, perhaps a few months. You do understand that this is for your own protection, don't you?" he asked, his blue eyes piercing hers.

"I understand," Evey muttered. That didn't mean she had to be happy about it. Hell, she wasn't likely to ever be happy again in any case.


	3. Let it be that you should know no further sorrow

Lunch was over and the children were slowly streaming out of the dining room to get back to their daily chores. At least Molly hoped they were.

"George, come here a second, would you? I need to talk to you." Molly wasn't looking forward to this conversation. She had been delaying this moment for hours, but Evey would be here soon. George had to know before she arrived.

"Just me, alone?" George gave her a quizzical look. Fred stopped at the bottom of the stairs, obviously curious.

"Yes, dear, just you," Molly said.

The twins exchanged a look, then Fred shrugged and went up the stairs.

"What did I do? You know, whatever it was, Fred likely had a hand in it, too."

"Sit down, George, please."

George stopped in his tracks, looking as serious as she'd ever seen him. "Mum? What's going on?"

She sighed. "It's about Evey. Will you please sit down?"

George slowly took a seat. "Is she alright? What happened?"

"Well, she's unhurt but… There was a… George, there was an attack. Her family was killed." The words came rapidly; there was no use beating about the bush.

Her son looked shocked. For once, he was actually speechless.

"George? Are you alright, dear?" He hadn't known the girl for very long, and they had broken up – Ginny had told Molly – just after Evey graduated, but George was very fond of her, she knew.

He found his voice at last. "I… I don't…" He choked on the words. Molly got up to hug him; he leaned into his mother's embrace and began to cry. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him cry. She felt her own tears slowly roll down her face. "It's alright. Everything will be alright."

* * *

Fred was curious. He'd wanted to use the Extendable Ears to listen in on the conversation his brother and mother were having in the dining room, but decided it was useless. George would tell him anyway.

He heard his brother coming up the stairs and sat up on the bed. George walked in, looking pale, his eyes red. Had he been _crying_? "What's wrong?" Fred asked.

"Evey will be staying with us. She'll be here soon," he replied blandly.

"Really? Well, that's good, isn't it? She broke up with you because the long-distance relationship would be hard to maintain, but if she's here, that won't be a prob-" He trailed off, frowning. " _Why_ is she coming here?"

"Greyback came to their house two days ago. Her parents and her brother were murdered."

Fred felt the blood drain from his face. Merlin's underpants, _Greyback_? He couldn't think of anything to say.

"Dumbledore's afraid he might come for her again if he realises she's alive, that's why she's staying here. Mum says everyone thinks she's dead. If you were wondering why we couldn't find a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ yesterday, that's why."

Fred's voice returned. "But why would Greyback come for her?"

"Does it really matter? It's probably an attack directed at the Order, at Dumbledore. They know he's fond of Muggles, and they don't like that. They want to undermine us."

"Well, it's certainly effective." He paused. "Are you alright?"

"I can't get my head around it. They were nice people." George had spent part of the last Easter holidays at Evey's place. He looked more distraught than Fred had ever seen him.

"I know, I remember them from the station. Her brother was pretty funny, and you know I don't use that word lightly."

"Yeah, he was a good kid. Merlin, I can't believe this is happening… It's only been weeks since Voldemort came back!"

"He's clearly not wasting any time. And they thought he was going to lie low for a while," Fred added with a grimace.

There was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, Ginny, Hermione and Ron came in, looking perturbed. "Is everything alright?" his sister asked. "I just went back to grab a glass of water downstairs and Mum was crying. What happened?"

George didn't look eager to explain again, so Fred told them what was going on. When he was finished, Ron had turned a sickly shade of green and the girls were crying silently. Ginny moved toward the bed to sit next to George and put an arm around him. They all stayed like that for a long time in silence, until their mother gave a quiet knock on the door. "Kids? Evey will be here in a minute, if you want to come down."

They all looked at each other without speaking. George went out first, looking determined.

* * *

George went down the stairs and into the dining room. Before any of them had time to sit, however, the front door opened. George walked right back into the hall. Remus and Tonks were there, too, but George ignored them. They passed him without a word as they joined the others in the dining room.

Evey studied the hall with a blank gaze. Her dark brown hair was tousled, but that was not unusual. She looked pale and tired, almost drained. When she realised that George was there, her green eyes looked up to meet his, and he walked up to her, but she didn't close the space between them.

They just stood there for a moment. The others had remained in the dining room, to give them some privacy, he assumed. After some time, George spoke. "I'm so sorry, Evey."

"Not as much as I am," she murmured. "I was useless. It's my fault they're gone."

"Hey, don't say that. What could you have done? It was Greyback, for Merlin's sake. It's a wonder you're even alive."

"Maybe it would be better if I wasn't," she whispered softly. Before he could think of a reply, she went on. "I just need to be alone for a while."

"Of course. I'll show you to your room." They walked up the stairs in silence. He didn't know what to say, how to comfort her. They reached the girls' room a moment later. "Evey, you're not alone. We're here for you. _I'm_ here for you."

"Thank you, George. I just need some time. I'm sorry."

He watched the door close behind her, feeling helpless.


	4. Bad reputation

_7 months ago_

Fred and George gave a last look around the corridor to make sure no one was near. Satisfied that they were alone, they turned to the statue of the one-eyed witch. Before they could tap the hump, however, the passage opened and a girl came out.

Stunned, the twins looked at each other. They had never encountered anyone near any of the secret passageways that lead in and out of Hogwarts. The girl looked a little taken aback as well. She was quite pretty, with medium-length dark brown hair. She seemed to be a little older than them, though she was much shorter, barely reaching to George's shoulder. Her green eyes gave them both an appraising look. Suddenly, she made a small motion with her hand. “You did not see me come out of a secret passageway.” She said it with a serious, commanding air.

George was the first to recover. “Don’t worry, we were just about to get into the passage ourselves. We won’t tell anyone.”

Fred nodded. “We’re just surprised to find someone else who knows about it.” He looked thoughtful. “How did you discover it?”

The girl gave him a mischievous smile. “I saw Potter get in there last year. Had to find out what _that_ was about. I’ve been using it quite a lot since.”

Fred grinned. “Who are you, then? Never seen you around before. I’m Fred, by the way, and this is George, my twin brother.”

The girl grinned right back at him. “Really? I’d never have guessed.” She chuckled lightly. “Name’s Evey. Nice to meet you.”

George gave her a flourished bow. “The pleasure is all ours.” He straightened with a smile. “What year are you in?”

“Seventh. You’re a year below me, right?”

The twins nodded. “I can’t believe we’ve never seen you before. I mean, I’m pretty sure we would remember if we had.” Fred gave her his most winning smile.

“I tend to keep to myself. I spend most of my free time reading in the common room. In the dungeons.” The twins’ grins faded at that. The girl noticed and continued. “Yeah. Apparently, being seen with a Slytherin is as good as signing your own death warrant, these days.” There was an awkward silence. “I guess I’ll be off, then. Be sure to visit Honeydukes, they just got a shipment of Exploding Bonbons.” She started down the corridor.

George called out after her. “Wait! Are you going to the Yule Ball?” Fred gave his brother an odd look.

The girl turned around to look at him with narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t going to, no. Why?” she asked suspiciously.

George took a deep breath. “Would you like to come with me?”

She studied him for a moment. Then she shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’ll meet you in the Great Hall.” She turned around once more and walked away without another word.

George let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and smiled after the girl. Fred was still looking at him with that odd look on his face. George turned to face his brother. “What?”

“You’re going to the ball with a _Slytherin_?” He paused briefly. “Are you alright?” Fred looked genuinely concerned.

“She’s pretty.”

Fred shook his head. “The most beautiful flowers are usually the deadliest.”

George snorted. “How poetic.” He grinned at his brother. “You’re just jealous.”

It was Fred’s turn to snort. “Well, it should be interesting, just to see the others’ reactions.” He returned his brother’s grin. “I can just picture Ron’s face when he finds out.”

The twins both laughed at that. _Yes, it should be interesting_ , George thought, still smiling.

* * *

George felt uncharacteristically nervous. What had possessed him to ask a girl he barely knew to come to a _ball_ with him? He didn’t even know how to dance. This was going to be a disaster.

Fred suddenly tapped his shoulder and pointed toward the stairs. George gave a small start and turned around. She was there. She’d actually come! For a moment, George could only stare. Had he thought she was pretty? She was beautiful. She’d made up her hair just a little, so that her soft curls fell lightly to her shoulders. She wore a bright green dress that brought out the colour of her eyes. She’d put on some light make-up, too, although she hardly needed it. His mouth felt dry.

She walked up to him, smiling coyly. “Well, you don’t look too bad.” She grinned. “Love the lace at the cuffs.”

He felt his cheeks heat up. “Yeah, it’s not exactly what I had in mind when they said we’d need dress gowns,” he mumbled, looking down.

“I was just kidding. Everyone looks ridiculous, dressed like that.” She sighed. “Ugh. I hate dressing up. It’s been years since I’ve worn any sort of dress.”

“You don’t look ridiculous.” He looked her in the eyes, smiling slightly, his confidence slowly returning. “You’re beautiful.”

Her smile broadened and a faint blush bloomed on her cheeks. “Thanks. Shall we?” She offered him her arm, which made him laugh.

“Gladly.” He turned around. “You’ve met Fred.” He indicated the tall witch standing next to his brother. “This is Angelina. She plays for the Gryffindor Team. Angelina, this is Evey.”

Angelina gave the newcomer a warm smile. “Nice to meet you.”

Evey smiled back. “Likewise.”

At that moment, they were joined by Ron and Harry.

Ron looked grumpy. “Let’s get this over with, then. Have you seen Hermione?”

Evey answered him. “Hermione Granger? I just saw her upstairs, she was talking with some hot bloke from Durmstrang.”

Ron frowned at that. “Really?” He looked toward the stairs, then back at her. “Who are you, anyway?”

George shook his head at his brother’s rudeness. “She’s my date.” George couldn’t help but smile at that. “Evey, this is my ever-charming brother, Ronald Bilius. And that’s Harry Potter, but you probably knew that already. Harry, Ron, this is Evey.”

She gave them both a bright smile. “Such famous people you hang out with. I’m truly honoured.” She bowed slightly to Harry, who turned a bright crimson and muttered something inaudible.

Fred laughed. “He’s very shy, Harry is.” He glanced to his left. “Ah! Gentlemen, I believe your own dates have arrived.” He gave them both a wicked grin. Ron looked ready to sick up and Harry’s blush deepened. Reluctantly, they walked away to greet Padma and Parvati Patil.

“Poor girls.” George chuckled quietly. “They have no idea what they signed up for.”

Evey laughed. “You didn’t look so bold yourself just a minute ago.”

“Not my fault. I had a brain freeze when I saw you. Took some time to thaw, is all.” He grinned and then nodded toward the Great Hall. “Fancy a drink?”

She grinned back. “I sure do.”

* * *

Evey felt good, which was unexpected. She usually avoided crowds and social gatherings of any sort. But being around George and his friends, she felt…comfortable. Yes, that was the word. All these years at Hogwarts, she’d never felt like she belonged, and being a Muggle-born in the house of Salazar Slytherin hadn’t helped in the least. Even now, in her last year, most of her housemates considered her as an outsider. She had taken it hard, especially at the beginning of her first year. With all the name-calling and bullying, she’d even considered begging her parents to take her back home.

Then one day, everyone had simply stopped bothering her. Someone had pranked her harshly just the day before, during their last period, Transfiguration, and after that, they had started to ignore her entirely. She didn’t mind being ignored; she’d always been more of a loner anyway. She wasn’t sure why they’d stopped so suddenly, but she’d been too relieved to care.

Still, she’d never quite fitted in, never really had a friend at school. The other Houses were heavily biased toward Slytherin students, so making friends with anyone outside her own House had proven impossible – not that she’d tried very hard. She gave up altogether in her second year, embracing solitude.

She laughed at the joke Fred had just made. She hadn’t laughed like that in a while, probably not since returning to school last September. She realised George was looking at her and turned to meet his eyes, smiling. “Are we going to dance, or what?” he asked her.

She gave him a wicked grin. “If you think you can handle it.” Fred and Angelina both laughed.

George got up and gave her a low bow, extending his hand. “My lady.”

Evey chuckled and took his hand. They made their way to the centre of the room. She thought he was a pretty good dancer, although she wouldn’t know, having never danced before herself. They danced for a long time, until eventually her feet started to protest. Bloody high heels. She told George she’d like to take a break and he suggested a walk outside, out of the crowd. She took the offer gratefully.

They found a corner with an empty bench and sat for a while in silence, gazing at the stars. She’d expected it, but she was still pleasantly surprised when he leaned in to kiss her. He was pretty good at that, too. They stayed there for some time, until they were interrupted by some fourth-year girls giggling madly. They looked at each other and shrugged, then went back inside.

Fred and Angelina were dancing now, and their table had been taken up by Ron, Harry and a ginger-haired girl that could only be a Weasley sibling.

George introduced them. “Ginny, this is Evey. Evey, my sister Ginny.”

The younger girl gave her a shy smile. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Ron looked disgruntled. “I can’t _believe_ she went with Krum!” Harry and Ginny both rolled their eyes.

George looked curious. “Who went with Krum?”

Ron made a face. “Hermione.”

“Really?” George turned around to scan the crowd. “Is that her? With the blue dress?” Ron grunted in response. “Well. That was unexpected.” He smiled. “Good for her.” Ron gave him a dirty look.

Evey looked toward the witch dancing with the Bulgarian Seeker. “She’s very pretty.” She grinned. “He’s not bad, either.” George snorted.

Ron let out a low growl, turning away from the dancing pair to glare at Evey. “So which House are you in, anyway? Never seen you before.”

“Slytherin.” All heads turned to her at once. Harry looked surprised, Ginny slightly stunned.

Ron grimaced. “You’re kidding, right?” When she didn’t answer, he turned to his brother. “She’s kidding, right?”

George met his brother’s gaze. “No, she’s not kidding, Ronald. She’s in Slytherin.”

Ron looked disgusted. “Why in Merlin's name would you ask out a bloody  _Slytherin_ to the ball?”

George frowned. “Watch your tongue, Ron.”

His brother snorted, disbelief clouding his voice. “Have you gone mad? Or has she put a spell on you?” He turned to Evey. “Have you?”

George sounded angry, now. “Would you stop that? What has she done to deserve you being rude to her?”

Before Ron could reply, Ginny spoke up. “George’s right. You have to stop thinking that all Slytherins are monsters.” Ron stared at her and opened his mouth, but his sister talked right over him. “Just because Malfoy is a twat means they’re all like that. There are some Slytherins in my year that are actually quite nice.”

Ron snorted again, shaking his head. “It’s not just Malfoy! I mean, have you met Crabbe and Goyle? Marcus Flint? Pansy bloody Parkinson? They’re brainless twits, all of them!” He looked at his best friend for support. “Harry?”

The skinny, dark-haired boy looked slightly embarrassed. “I don’t know, Ron. They can’t _all_ be like Malfoy, can they?”

Evey decided to intervene. “If it helps, I hate Malfoy as much you do. Most of us do, actually. Spoiled, whiny brat.” George and Harry laughed at that, while Ginny nodded in approval. Ron didn’t look convinced.

“You know,” she went on, “from what I’ve heard, there’s always been a rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. But before you arrived at Hogwarts, before Malfoy arrived, really, it never went beyond the good-natured practical joke or Quidditch-related jeers.” She looked at Ron. “Now you can’t run into a group from the other House without being called names or made fun of, and it can get pretty brutal, too. And don’t think your housemates don’t do it. I’ve had my share from them.” Ron was starting to look faintly embarrassed; he’d turned a pale shade of pink.

Fred and Angelina were back from the dance floor; they both looked breathless. They sat down, smiling, then seemed to sense the tension around the table. “What’s going on?” Fred looked at his twin.

George sighed. “Evey’s true colours have finally been revealed. Although she wasn’t exactly trying to hide them,” he added, indicating Evey’s dress. He gave Ron a smirk. “Your brother seems to think she’s put me under some terrible spell.”

Fred snorted, eyes twinkling. “Well, I haven’t ruled out that possibility yet.” He grinned. “You know, deny it all you want, there’s a good chance he’s also _your_ brother.” They all laughed at that; Ron had turned an alarming shade of crimson.

Angelina spoke up, still smiling. “I’ve never understood why Slytherins and Gryffindors were so hostile toward each other to begin with.”

George nodded. “Just what Evey was saying before you arrived. She thinks it got worse when Malfoy arrived at Hogwarts.”

Angelina looked thoughtful. “You know, that’s quite possible. I can’t remember being harassed during my first or second year. These days, it seems every time I run into a Slytherin, I get insulted, one way or another. I know being on the Quidditch Team makes me a more likely target, but still. Just two days ago, this tiny first-year kid called me a ‘Half-Mudblood’.” She gave a small, incredulous laugh. “I was just asking her if she was lost.” She shook her head. “It’s sad, really.” She looked at Evey. “And it goes both ways, of course. I’ve caught several Gryffindors from my year harassing Slytherins, and they weren’t any nicer than them.”

Evey nodded in agreement. “Being a Slytherin can be frustrating. I mean, the Gryffindors are the brave, daring kids, the Ravenclaws are the smart ones, and the Hufflepuffs the kind ones who get along with everyone. Nothing so nice about us, though. We’re the evil ones. The cold-hearted opportunists. The fact that most Death Eaters came from Slytherin is probably not helping our reputation.” She smiled wryly. “They seem to forget about people like Damocles Belby.” The others nodded, except for Harry, who looked confused. Evey smiled at him. “Belby is the potioneer who invented the Wolfsbane Potion a few years back. He was awarded the Order of Merlin for his discovery.” She paused briefly. “Come to think of it, Merlin himself was a Slytherin.” Harry looked surprised. “Yeah. But maybe all the good guys who came out of our House are not enough to compensate for all the bad ones,” she added with a sigh.

Harry spoke up quietly. “Dumbledore once said that Salazar Slytherin valued cleverness, resourcefulness and determination in his students. That doesn’t seem to indicate he only chose evil people.”

Evey smiled. “Shrewdness, ambition, cunning… there are plenty of qualities to be found in our House. They just seem to be badly balanced, in some people.”

Ron’s face had almost gone back to its original colour. “The thing is, you don’t _sound_ like a Slytherin. Maybe the Hat made a mistake…”

Evey grinned at him. “On the contrary, Ronald. I’m exactly where I belong. Cold-hearted opportunist, that’s just me.” The others laughed. “More seriously, though, I _am_ a true Slytherin. I’m not ambitious, certainly, or leadership-oriented, but I _do_ have a very powerful sense of self-preservation. And I’m definitely an opportunist.” She shrugged. “All Houses have their share of qualities and weaknesses. All _people_ have their share of both. We just have a bad reputation.” Her new friends nodded in agreement, then they all grew silent for a while.


	5. I am the very soul of caution

Tony made his way noiselessly down the stairs. At two in the morning, he wasn’t likely to run into anyone, not even the dog. When he couldn’t sleep, Black spent most of his time brooding in the attic, with the hippogriff.

As he opened the door that led to the unused living room, however, he was glad that he’d bothered to turn himself invisible. That might be the only perk to his curse, but it certainly came in handy, especially now that he was stuck here.

There was a girl sitting cross-legged on the mouldy couch, reading by the diffuse light produced by a short wand - maple wood, if he wasn't mistaken. She wasn’t Molly’s daughter, that much he could say for certain – her hair was a dull brown – but other than that, he had no idea who she might be. He knew he should go back upstairs – he really shouldn't be here – but his curiosity got the better of him. It often did.

It wouldn’t do to startle her. He made himself visible then cleared his throat loudly. The girl turned toward him with a small frown. Clearly, she hadn’t expected to see anyone, either. She was young, Tony noted, and quite pretty. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think you’re in my brooding spot,” he told her with his most charming smile.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone ever came down here.” Considering the state of the room, it was an honest mistake. And, in fact, that was precisely why Tony came here at night. The girl closed her book, stood up and took a few steps toward the door.

Tony raised his hands. “Oh, you can stay. I was just kidding. We can share. It’s a very large decrepit couch.” Merlin knew, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. “I’m Tony,” he introduced himself. It was better to stick to his nickname until he knew more about the girl.

“Evey,” she replied simply.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment but finally walked back to the couch. Tony sat down at the other end. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” he asked her.

“Yes, I am. I arrived this afternoon. Have you been here a long time?”

“A few weeks. We were among the first to settle in. Shitty place, isn’t it?”

She chuckled softly. “It’s not what I expected, I’ll admit. It certainly doesn’t look like it harbours the Order of the Phoenix. Then again, maybe that’s on purpose,” she added thoughtfully.

“Nah, I think they were just caught by surprise by Voldemort’s sudden reappearance. What brings you here, anyway?” Too late, he realised he shouldn’t have asked that; she would return the question for sure.

She replied before he had time to change the subject. “I’m in hiding, apparently.”

“Join the club. We’ve got cool jackets.”

“I didn’t realise that we were sheltering Death Eaters,” she went on casually, “let alone dead ones.”

Tony stared at her. If he'd had a functioning heart, it would have been pounding. “You know who I am?” _Bloody hell! I knew I should have gone back upstairs._

“You’re Antonin Dolohov.” Oddly, she was still smiling. And she didn’t look as if she was about to scream in terror and wake up Molly; that was something. If Molly found out he’d left his cage…um, room...she’d try her best to kill him. “It seems we have more in common than I thought possible,” Evey went on.

“We do?” he asked her with a frown.

“I’m also dead to the world. Do you have a club for that, as well?”

“It was just me until a moment ago. I guess we could start one together,” he told her a trifle uncertainly. “How do you know who I am?” She seemed a bit young to remember the War. Were her parents in the Order? Damn, he hoped he hadn't tortured anyone she knew.

“They wrote a small article about you when you…died. There was a picture.” She shrugged. “I assume you wouldn’t be here if you were a danger to anyone. Mrs Weasley would never let that happen, not with the kids here.” She paused, scowling slightly. “Although, come to think of it…you killed her brothers, the Prewetts, didn’t you?”

Tony gulped down some air reflexively. A familiar feeling of crushing guilt settled in his mind. “I… Yeah, I did. But you’re right,” he added hastily. “We’re not dangerous. We’re here to help.”

“We?” she repeated slowly.

_You fucking idiot!_  he cursed himself. He would never learn to hold his tongue, would he? “I’m here with my brother,” he explained reluctantly.

“Oh? I didn’t know you had a brother. Is he a Death Eater, too?”

“He was. We’re not Death Eaters anymore, though. We’re not exactly members of the Order, either. Not yet, anyway. Dumbledore doesn’t trust us enough to send us on missions or anything, but that’s what we’re here for,” he said determinedly.

“Seeking redemption, uh? Good for you.” She sounded sincere.

They were silent for a moment. “Maybe I should leave you alone,” Tony said eventually. He stood up, followed by a trail of dust from the couch.

“Oh no, please don't! I could use some distraction.” She gazed at him steadily, her green eyes utterly unafraid.

He sat back down hesitantly, though Merlin knew he could use some distraction, too. “Why do you need distraction? And for that matter, why aren’t you in bed? It’s really late, you know.”

“Really early, you mean.” She sighed, indicating the newspaper that lay on the dusty coffee table.

Tony picked it up gingerly. It was a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , dated 16th July. Two days ago, he thought, though keeping track of the time was not an easy task, in this place. ‘GREYBACK MURDERS FAMILY OF FOUR’ the headline glared at him. He turned toward Evey. “Please tell me that’s not what I’m supposed to be reading.”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to read it. It’s garbage, anyway. They misspelled my mum’s name.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Poor kid. Greyback rarely made a clean kill. How in the blazes had she survived? “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

“That’s a grand idea,” she concurred with an emphatic nod.

“Are you still at Hogwarts?” She seemed mature enough, but she couldn’t be more than eighteen, nineteen at most.

“I just graduated.”

“Got some fancy N.E.W.Ts?” How odd it was, to have a perfectly banal conversation with someone who didn’t look at him as if they feared that he was about to eat them.

“Uh-huh. All the ones I wanted. Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence against the Dark Arts and Alchemy.”

Alchemy? He didn’t even know that was an option. In any case, graduating with seven N.E.W.Ts was quite an achievement. “Any idea for the future?”

“A very specific idea, actually, but it’s a bit complicated,” she said with an air of frustration.

“Because you’re stuck here?”

“Well, there’s that, yes,” she said with a bitter chuckle. “But beyond that, the only person who might take me as an apprentice disappeared a few weeks ago.”

“Ah, yes, that would be a problem. Doesn’t he have a substitute, though?”

“I asked that very question when I was at the Ministry last week, trying to find him, but they laughed in my face. Said no one could substitute for him. And they also said that the bloke was unlikely to let me work with him in any case, even if he resurfaced. They told me to start looking for something else, that it was no job for a little girl.”

Ouch. “What’s the bloke’s name?” Tony asked suddenly. His brother had ‘disappeared’ a few weeks ago, when they’d moved in here, and he had always been against taking on apprentices because his job was dangerous. And he worked for the Ministry. But surely, that would be too much of a coincidence…

“Not sure about his first name. They just call him Macnair.”

Of course. There was no such thing as a coincidence. “It’s Walden,” he told her with a small smile.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You know him?”

“He’s my brother. Well, that is, we’re not related, obviously, but his father married my mum, so…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“So Macnair’s here? You said your brother was here with you.”

“Yeah, he’s here alright.”

“But that’s fantastic!” Evey exclaimed. “Can I talk to him?”

“He’s sleeping.” And snoring. That was why Tony usually came downstairs at night; his hearing was much more delicate than it used to be.

“Oh, right. In the morning, then?”

Bloody hell. Now he was in trouble. “Ah… Well, it’s just… You see, technically, I’m not supposed to be down here,” he told her sheepishly. “We’re confined in our room for the time being. And um…I don’t think Molly will agree to that. I mean, she definitely won’t. Hell, I shouldn’t even be talking to you. She’ll kill me if she finds out.” Walden would probably kill him, too. Merlin’s fungous toenails, what had he gotten himself into?

“I won’t tell her I saw you,” Evey said. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” She looked like she meant it, but Molly had a bad habit of finding out whatever you least wanted her to find out. Well, he only had himself to blame. He shouldn’t have talked to the girl in the first place.

“I really should go,” he said earnestly, standing up once more. “We probably won’t see each other around, but it’s been nice talking to you. And again, I’m truly sorry for your loss.” Bloody Greyback. Someone really ought to put that mad wolf down.

Evey looked disappointed, but she didn’t say anything, so Tony went back to the room he shared with his brother.


	6. All I got in my room was shampoo

Evey gave a firm knock on the door. She waited a moment, wondering if they’d heard it, but the door opened abruptly before she could knock again. It revealed a tall, shirtless man.

His left forearm was missing, and his swarthy, muscular chest was a maze of scars in all shapes and colours. It was difficult for Evey to focus on his face, all the more since her head was level with his trunk. Finally, she willed herself to look up at him. He sported a scruffy beard and there were more scars there as well. A thin, black one came across his right eye, starting from his forehead and descending almost to the corner of his mouth. His nose must have been broken more than once, and there was another scar on his left cheekbone, this one star-shaped and of an odd, bluish hue that matched the colour of his left eye. Evey wasn’t sure if it qualified as heterochromia or if it was somehow due to the scars, but his left eye was a deep, almost violet blue, while the right one was as clear as a cloudless summer sky.

He was absolutely stunning.

The man – Macnair, Evey assumed – hadn’t said a word and was looking down at her with a bored expression. She realised that she was gaping slightly and blushed with embarrassment. “Ahem. Good afternoon,” she told him with a bashful smile.

He was still silent, but a moment later Tony was beside him. He looked frighteningly pale and skinny next to the other man, although they were about the same height. “Evey,” he said with a frown. “What are you doing here? Not that I mind, you see, but I told you…” Macnair turned away to walk back inside the room and Tony moved aside to let him pass. “I told you we’re not supposed to talk to anyone, especially the kids.”

“I’m not a kid,” she said coolly. “Look, nobody knows I’m here, I promise. I just needed a break. Please?”

Tony hesitated, but eventually stepped back so she could enter. “Alright. Welcome to our lovely…dump.” As Evey took a look around the room, she thought that he was more than exaggerating. It was nothing fancy, but they had a large space all to themselves, and it was cosy enough. “What can I do you for?” he added with a grin.

“I just… I’m tired of everyone hovering over me all the bloody time. When I told them I was going to the loo, I almost thought they would offer to come with me.” She grimaced. “I feel like I’m on suicide watch.”

“Well, they’re worried about you. You can’t blame them.”

“I don’t, not really, but it’s getting on my nerves. It’s making it sort of worse, actually. Look, I don’t mean to intrude. I’ll go if you want.”

“No, no, don’t be silly. It’s fine. _Mi casa es tu casa_ ,” Tony said, spreading his hands wide.

“ _Muchas gracias_. And with that, I think I’ve about exhausted my meagre supply of Spanish vocabulary. Can we continue in English?” Evey asked with a small grin.

Tony laughed. “Yeah, fine with me.”

Macnair was reclining on his back in one of the beds, watching television. Evey did a double take. A television? “Wait a second. How did you get _that_ to work?” she asked, pointing at the device. “I thought Muggle appliances didn’t function in these old magical houses. They don’t even have electricity!”

“Oh, that. I used to be an engineer,” Tony said with a shrug. “I worked something out. We have a VCR, too, and exactly eight movies that we watch on repeat. I can quote Raiders of the Lost Ark in its entirety from memory, if you'd like.”

Evey could only stare. She had been sure that she wouldn’t see one of these for the next few months, at the very least. The television looked tantalisingly familiar, almost comforting. “It’s hardly fair. Why do you have a television and we don’t?”

“Because we’re stuck inside this tiny room with no other distraction whatsoever?” Tony supplied. “I mean, we’ve got books, but reading gets boring, after a while.” Reading could be boring? That was what she usually spent most of her free time doing. “I was never much of a reader,” he admitted. He indicated the empty bed. “You can stay and watch telly if you want, but we’re halfway through the movie already.”

“That’s not a problem. I know all the Monty Python movies by heart.” She’d recognised The Life of Brian right away. “You sure you don’t mind?” She glanced toward Macnair, who still hadn’t said a word. His mismatched eyes were riveted to the screen.

“Absolutely sure. And don’t mind Wal. He doesn’t like people. It’s nothing personal. I’m not even sure he likes _me_ ,” Tony said with a sigh. “Anyway, if we’re going to get scolded to death by Molly, we might as well make the most of it,” he added. “Wait, I’ll turn the bed around.” He did, and with surprising ease for someone so skinny. He was a lot stronger than he looked.

There was something odd about the former Death Eater. Evey had already reflected upon it when she’d met him the other day, but it wasn’t until then that she'd realised what troubled her: He looked impossibly young, barely older than Evey herself, which made no sense. He had been an adult when he’d served Voldemort during the War, so he ought to be in his late thirties or early forties, at least, just like Macnair, who did look about that age.

Granted, some people aged remarkably well, but Antonin Dolohov had spent the last fifteen years or so in Azkaban… The picture from the _Daily_ _Prophet_ article relating his sudden death had been taken on the day he’d been incarcerated, and even then he’d looked older than he did now. Perhaps being away from that dreadful place for a few months had had a positive, rejuvenative impact on his appearance? It seemed a bit far-fetched. No, something was most certainly off, but Evey couldn’t say exactly what it was.

* * *

When the credits began to roll down, Macnair grabbed a book on his bedside table. Evey wasn’t particularly sociable, but he was taking it to a whole new level. No wonder she had been told to find another occupation. Well, she would ask him anyway. This was her only career option - her vocation. She couldn’t begin to imagine doing anything else.

There was something that bothered her, though. She turned to Tony. “You know, when you said you weren’t Death Eaters anymore, I didn’t think you meant it quite so literally,” she said, indicating his left forearm, where Voldemort’s mark must have been branded at some point. It wasn’t there now. “He didn’t actually chop off his own arm, did he?” she asked in a lower voice, cocking her head toward Macnair. “Wait. Did Dumbledore ask him to do it, so he could join the Order?”

“No, of course not. It’s nothing like that. Dumbledore was quite glad to see us. We’re only confined here because the kids are here for the holidays. He said we could move about more freely when they’re gone. As for Walden’s arm, I cut it off myself,” he told her casually.

“No you didn’t.” Tony shrugged. “Holy shit! You chopped off your brother’s arm?”

“Well, he asked me to,” he said defensively, “when he felt Voldemort summoning us in June. He said he didn’t want any connection to him and it made sense, you know, since we’d decided to join the Order. We were afraid that Voldemort might track us down by using the Dark Mark somehow. And Walden couldn’t cut off his own arm himself, so… Let’s just say there was a lot of rum involved.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Evey said. “But why couldn’t you simply remove his mark, like you did yours?” She pointed to his left arm again.

“Oh, I didn’t remove it. It removed itself, so to speak.” He was gazing at her intently, as if considering how much he should tell her.

“I feel a big revelation coming,” Evey said wryly.

Tony grinned at her then and, in itself, his smile revealed part of the tale.


	7. Bound by the life you left behind

_4 months ago_

Walden awoke to the sound of someone banging loudly on the front door.

He was used to being roused at all times, night or day, and was therefore quick to come to his senses, but he must have dreamt the knock. No one could come here. The place – the whole property – was heavily warded, not to mention that Walden himself was Secret Keeper to its location, and the only other person who knew where the manor lay was now dead. And even when he had been alive… Well, it didn't matter. He must have dreamt it. Or maybe Caraid had let something fall again. The house elf wasn't getting any younger.

It was still day, Walden noticed idly. He hadn't been asleep for long.

He was already drifting back to sleep when the sound came again, louder this time. Bloody hell. Who in the blazes could it be? In all logic, an ill-intended person wouldn't bother to knock, right?

With a sigh, he picked up his sycamore wand from under the cushion and walked up to the door. He had been sleeping on the couch, as usual. Caraid probably hadn't heard the commotion; he was almost completely deaf. Walden opened the door wide, hoping to take whoever it was by surprise in case it was in fact a hostile visitor.

It was his brother.

His _dead_ brother.

"What the–?" Tony couldn't be here. He was _dead_! Merlin's beard, Walden had received the letter from Azkaban just a fortnight ago. How had he–? "Did you…fake your own death to escape from jail?" That didn't seem possible, but nothing was making sense at the moment.

Antonin grinned at him. "It's good to see you, too." He looked exactly as Walden remembered him: tall and thin and incredibly pale, with raven black hair and mischievous brown eyes. He was clean-shaven. He looked as if he had barely aged a day since he was arrested. He certainly didn't look as though he had spent fourteen years in Azkaban. "But to answer your question, no, I didn't fake it. And it was in no way intentional. That is, I didn't kill myself. That's what they put in the letter, isn't it?"

Walden nodded wearily. "Aye." He couldn't believe it. Fourteen years locked up in that hellhole, then an official death notification, and here Tony was, looking in better shape than Walden had felt in over a decade. "What do you mean, you didn't fake it?"

"Well, I died." He looked almost apologetic. "Jeanne killed me, and then she brought me back. She turned me."

"Who?" What the hell was he going on about?

"Jeanne," his brother repeated, cocking his head to the right. When Walden frowned at the empty space beside him – Had he gone mad? Was he hallucinating? – Tony turned his head. "Come on, quit messing around," he said with mild exasperation.

A woman materialised at his side. It wasn't Apparition; most of the grounds were warded against that, just like Hogwarts. She must have been there the whole time and suddenly turned visible, somehow – although how she had walked inside the property in the first place was a mystery. She was slender and quite short, especially standing there beside Antonin, and she was as pale as he was. Her chestnut-brown hair was cut short and she wore a pair of fashionable sunglasses that hid her eyes. "I love your pyjamas, _mon cher_ ," she said with a dazzling smile and a heavy French accent.

That was when Walden realised that he was still in his underwear – he never wore anything else when he slept, or when he was around the house, for that matter. Who was there to scold him? Caraid was almost as blind as he was deaf, and they never had company. Blushing slightly, he retreated inside the house, half-closing the door, and grabbed the pair of jeans and t-shirt he'd carelessly tossed on the floor when he’d come home earlier in the afternoon.

When he opened the door again, Jeanne's smile turned into a pout. "What a shame. A body like yours, you shouldn't be hiding it under all these clothes. _"_

Tony was shaking his head and looking as embarrassed as Walden felt. "Don't mind her. Can we come in? We need to talk, if it wasn't obvious."

"Sure," Walden said with a shrug. He turned toward the kitchen and took a few steps in that direction, then noticed they weren't following him.

"Um… Yeah, you need to invite us in. Stupid rule, that one." Once again, his brother looked apologetic.

Walden snorted. "What are you, a bloody vampire?"

Tony opened his mouth, and his upper canines elongated. _You've got to be kidding me_ , Walden thought. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. "Come on in, both of you."

* * *

He offered them tea or coffee but they both declined, Jeanne politely, Antonin with open distaste. "I'm afraid I don't have any blood to give you," Walden said dryly. “Except my own.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Tony’s face somehow became even paler. "No, no, we’re fine! I’m sorry, it's just… Jeanne made me drink water – just stupid, plain water – because she wanted me to understand why I should _never_ try to ingest anything but blood. Long story short, I learned my lesson," he said with a grimace. "You wouldn't believe the mess."

"We're sorry to intrude on you like this without forewarning," Jeanne said. She had removed her sunglasses, and Walden couldn't help but notice that her left eye was missing. The right eye was a limpid blue. "Antonin tells me that you're a very busy man."

Walden made a dismissive gesture. She had brought his brother back from the dead; he wasn't going to be annoyed at having his rest disturbed. "I don't understand. If you're a vampire – if you're both vampires – how can you walk in broad daylight?" It wasn't a particularly sunny day in the Highlands, granted, but vampires couldn't stand sunlight, no matter how faint; they were supposed to enclose themselves in a lightproof space during the day. That was Vampires 101.

"We're not mere vampires _._ We're Ancients," Jeanne told him brightly. "We are the upper-class, the _élite_ , the chosen few. There is only a handful of us."

Walden let out a small laugh. Ancients! Had they also managed to capture a Crumple-Horned Snorkack on their way back from Azkaban? _Merlin's rumpled robes, they're crazy._

Many children of wizarding descent were fed tales of the Ancients, a popular bedtime story, which claimed that vampires were created millennia ago by Death itself, who was also a vampire, but an exceptional one, with all sorts of fancy abilities. These vampires who were transformed by Death were called the Ancient Ones, and they were presumably figures of legend, Vlad Dracula being the most notable of them all. That particular tale had even made it into Muggle folklore, apparently. The second part of the story asserted that werewolves had been created in the same fashion by Death's nemesis, Famine, and that they'd been competing from time immemorial through their respective minions. It didn't help the story’s credibility that those two were so-called Horsemen of the Apocalypse, if you believed in these things – which Walden didn't. It was truly preposterous. "Quit messing around, lady. It's been a long day, and I have no patience for kiddie tales."

Tony edged forward on his seat. "Wal, she's being serious. The Ancients are real. Everything is real, all the stories. How else do you explain us being vampires and walking in the sun? You're the practical one. Merlin, you're probably a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Think about it." They were both fixing him intently. It wasn't helping their case, actually. Their eyes shone with their fervent desire to make him see the truth – or their version of it. They looked like religious fanatics trying to convert a primitive heathen.

Tony had a point, but there was certainly a much more rational explanation. At this point, the most logical one was that the girl, Jeanne, was another convict, who had somehow escaped her cell and embarked Tony with her. Their time in Azkaban had taken its toll on them, and now they were both stark raving mad. Occam's razor: the simplest explanation was often the correct one. Walden didn't like to think that his brother had gone insane, though, so he cautiously settled for another potential explanation. "There are potions and artefacts that can allow vampires to walk in broad daylight," he said quietly. They were known to be of dubious efficacy at best, but maybe they had found a more effective method to achieve the same effect.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" Tony asked flatly. "You think the Dementors loosened the few screws I had left."

"I think you're _both_ crazy," Walden admitted.

Jeanne laughed heartily at that. "I suppose we are, _mon mignon._ 'All the best people are', isn't that the saying?"

"And if the Ancients are supposed to be figures of legend, who does that make you? Jeanne d'Arc?" Walden asked sarcastically. "Besides, he's hardly famous," he went on, pointing a thumb in his brother's direction.

"Why is it always her? _La Pucelle d'Orléans_ ," Jeanne said disdainfully. "Infamous is more like it, in most cases," she went on. "You do know we rarely go by our former names, don't you?"

"I don't _know_ anything," he replied, "but the stories claim that you use aliases to disguise your true identities, yes."

"Well, I'm the Swindler – or _l'Arnaqueuse_ , as I prefer to call myself – but I like you, pet, so I'm going to tell you my little secret," she said with a coy grin that revealed her razor-sharp canines. "My name is Jeanne de Valois-Saint-Rémy, Comtesse de la Motte."

He had heard of her, as a matter of fact. History had always fascinated him, magical and Muggle alike, and they were often intertwined. Jeanne de la Motte was a Frenchwoman who, in the 18th century, had managed to steal a diamond necklace with the help of various colourful characters and by using several subterfuges, such as forged letters and a prostitute disguised as the then-Queen, Marie-Antoinette. The operation had been a success, but Jeanne was arrested eventually. She was sentenced to life, but escaped prison by dressing up as a boy. She had ended up in London, where she’d published her memoirs, and was presumably murdered there, thrown off her hotel room window. It was true that she had supposedly lost an eye in the fatal fall, but that didn't mean that this was the same woman. Besides, what were the odds that a vampire just happened to be nearby when she fell, and an Ancient at that? He told Jeanne exactly that.

She chuckled softly. "It doesn't work like that, _mon joli_. There's one amongst us who spends her time travelling the world, looking for the next likely lad or lass. Considering that there are only thirteen of us, and that we've been around for millennia, you can imagine that it's not a very rewarding job. But she never stops. She's relentless, our Queen." Jeanne smiled fondly, thinking of whomever this woman was. "Anyway. She marks down the candidate and appoints him or her a maker. There's an order, you see. We only get one each." She turned to Tony. "I was lucky. There are only two other men, you know, and they're quite ugly. But look how pretty mine is." She sounded like a proud mother discussing her favourite child. "But to go back to the point, what I mean is that we wait until they die before we turn them, to avoid suspicion. We're a secret lot, in case it wasn't yet obvious." She sighed. "But it was different with Antonin." It was odd, the way she pronounced his name, _à la française_. "You see, none of the Ancients are wizards or witches, not even the Bloodmother, the Original One. We are…Muggles, as you call them. _Des Moldus_. That's why our scout, the one I was telling you about, never searches in places meant for people with magical abilities. She has never visited any of those fancy wizarding schools of yours, for example, or the Ministry, and a prison for magicians is the last place she would stop by." Jeanne trailed off as Caraid limped into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his cane.

"The Master has company?" the old house elf asked in a reedy voice. Blimey, he really _was_ blind. "Should I serve tea?"

"Caraid, you old bugger, you're still alive!" That was Tony. "I can't believe it! You must be older than Jeanne herself." Jeanne threw him a baleful one-eyed glare.

Caraid made no reply. Most likely, he hadn't heard. Walden crouched beside him and spoke loudly in his ear. "We have everything we need. You can go back to your room, thank you."

Caraid bowed unsteadily. "As you say, Master." For most of his life, Walden had tried to convince the elf to call him by his first name, had even commanded him once, but to no avail. His father used to say that he was too old to change his habits. The house elf retreated slowly, panting with the effort. Walden would have to do something about him, and soon. House elves didn’t retire, but perhaps Walden could hire a new one, to help Caraid with his chores. But he had to deal with the present situation, first.

Walden returned his attention to Jeanne. "So how did you find Tony, then?"

"Pure coincidence – or fate, if you believe in that sort of things." Walden didn't. "I was hired to do reconnaissance in that ghastly place you call Azkaban – I like to keep busy – and there he was. The poor thing looked half-dead already. I had to ask permission, of course, since it's not the way we normally do things. It took some time, but it was eventually granted."

"Recce? In Azkaban?" Walden repeated with a frown. "Who hired you? What do they want? And how did you get inside Azkaban without…" He trailed off. That last one was pretty obvious; she could turn invisible, apparently. Although that sort of trick didn't usually fool the Dementors.

"So curious!" Jeanne laughed delightedly. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you, _mon lapin_. Not because I don't want to, you understand. I simply don't know. I specialise in secret dealings, and it is therefore quite legitimate that my clients give no name or reason for their…requests."

"Whoever it was, it doesn't bode well." He turned to Antonin. "What happens now? Will you come live here again? Or are you leaving with her?" He wasn't sure what their relationship was. Jeanne was certainly pretty enough to be Tony's lover, but the way she talked to him, it sounded more like they were...family. As the person who'd turned Antonin, perhaps she was considered his new mother, or something like that. Vampires were strange, and there was no reason for Walden to believe that Ancients would be any different from regular ones. "I mean, you're dead, but if they realise that you're not – not entirely – that makes you a dangerous criminal on the run."

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly why we're here," Jeanne said, looking business-like all of a sudden. "You see, fledglings are always encouraged to let go of their past life, of everyone they know, and to start afresh, as much for their own sake as for that of their loved ones, who would flee in terror at the sight of them." She gave Walden another toothy grin. "But as I've said earlier, Antonin is an exception. As a wizard, I knew that his family was likely familiar with vampires. And there's also this Voldemort business."

"What do you mean?"

"Antonin tells me that the tattoo he wore, the one your…master branded into his arm when he became his servant, was getting darker, before I turned him, and that it means Voldemort may be returning, or trying to. Has your own mark become more visible?"

"Aye, it has." And it likely meant that the Dark Lord was already back, somehow, and biding his time until he could return in full strength. How he had achieved that was another matter entirely.

"I want to fight him, see," Tony said earnestly. "If he comes back, I want to help Dumbledore, be on the good guys' side, for once. I thought maybe we could…join the Order. Together."

"I don't think that the Order of the Phoenix still exists, Tony. And even if Dumbledore reconstitutes it, I doubt he'll allow us in."

"Come on, it's Dumbledore! The man gives second chances to everyone. Third chances, even. He hired Snape at Hogwarts, didn't he? Are you telling me that you want to sit on your arse and do nothing about Voldemort? Or do you intend to serve him again?” He smirked. “Did you become a coward while I was away?"

"You're calling _me_ a coward? Go to hell," Walden growled.

"I'm already there," Tony replied matter-of-factly.

"Boys, play nice." Jeanne had been observing their exchange with an amused smile. "I think I will leave you two to talk alone. You have much to catch up on." She stood up smoothly. "Antonin, _mon enfant,_ don't forget what I said. You know how to reach me if need be. And if I don't see you until then, remember to be there for the meeting."

Antonin stood up and walked her to the door, and Walden heard them whisper to each other for a moment. "I know how it sounds, Wal," he said when he returned to the kitchen, eyeing Walden’s cup of coffee with an air of painful yearning. "Believe me, it's as weird for me as it must be for you. Probably more, in fact." He passed a hand through his hair, something he often did when he was upset or frustrated. "Being an Ancient is not as fun as the stories make it sound. I can't eat anything. Can you imagine it, being immortal and not being able to eat?" Skinny as he was, Tony had always loved to eat. "We _have_ to do something. We have to go to Dumbledore, explain everything. Well, as much as we can, anyway. Nobody else can know exactly what I am, that was the condition for my being allowed to come back here and let you know that I'm…alive."

"Tony, what can we tell Dumbledore that he doesn't already know? You're right about Snape, he's at Hogwarts. He would know about the mark, and he will have told Dumbledore already. What else do we know for certain? We don't know that Jeanne was hired by a partisan or a Death Eater or...or the Dark Lord himself. It could have been anyone. We have no evidence, we have _nothing_."

"If we wait too long, it might be too late to prevent anything dire from happening," Tony pointed out.

"If the Dark Lord returns, something dire will happen no matter what we do," Walden murmured.


	8. Where the shadows lie

"You're an Ancient," Evey said slowly. "Like the ones from the tales? The Pirate, the Dragon, the Queen? Those Ancients?"

"Precisely." Tony grinned at her again, but his fangs weren't showing anymore.

"But I thought… I mean, I’ve read a lot about vampires, from the points of view of both Muggles and wizards, and there have been a few people who went as far as to suggest that the Ancients were real, but…" She trailed off. Her mind was a whirlwind. Vampires had always fascinated her, even before she found out that she was a witch, but Ancients were something else altogether. They were legends even in the wizarding world.

"I didn't believe it at first, when Jeanne told me, but then I met the others."

"Do you know who they are? All of them?" One author, an expert on vampires who had been exiled from his native country for his exuberant views on the matter, had mused on the likely identities of the Ancients, but they seemed a bit extravagant to Evey. Dracula, for example, was too obvious, as was Elisabeth Báthory.

She told Tony as much but, before he could reply, Macnair decided to speak for the first time. He had a deep, quiet voice and, to Evey's disappointment, no trace of a Scottish accent. "I thought you weren't supposed to tell anyone about it," he remarked with a frown.

Tony shrugged. "What difference does it make? Dumbledore must have figured it out already, and he will have told the others."

This time Macnair directed his scowl at Evey. "What’s the kid even doing here? Does Molly know she's with you?"

"She's here because I like her and it's nice to have someone to talk to. I get barely ten words from you on a regular day. Wal, you do realise that I've been locked up in Azkaban for fourteen years, don't you? That I had no one to talk to, unless you count Bellatrix, who was right across the hall from me?" He grimaced. It seemed that he'd wanted to say that for some time. Being penned up here was certainly weighing on him, and no wonder. Evey had been at the Black house only for a couple of days and was already suffocating, and that was with being allowed to wander freely around the place.

Macnair’s brow was still furrowed, but he had apparently used up his supply of words for the day, because he returned his attention to his book. Tony rolled his eyes in frustration. "See what I have to live with?" he told Evey. "He was never talkative, even before, but Merlin, I'm going crazy here. I talk to myself most of the time. I wasn't doing that even in Azkaban!"

"Well, I'd love to stay here all day, but that's probably not the best idea." Evey glanced at her watch. "Actually, I should get back downstairs. They'll start a full-scale search soon if I don't show up. As long as they don't know I've been here, I can keep coming back once in a while," she ventured a bit hesitantly.

"Yeah, you do that. It might keep the madness at bay." He sent another glare in his brother's direction. "Just make sure Molly doesn't find out, or she'll have our hides."

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door.

* * *

"Do you think Evey’s still in the loo?" George nervously asked no one in particular. "I mean, it's been over an hour."

"Of course she's not, you dolt," Ginny told him. "She probably needed some time alone, and no wonder. You and mum are smothering her."

"I don't like to leave her alone," George said with a grimace. "She's depressed, Gin. She might hurt herself."

"Don't be daft. Evey’s tough. She just needs time to process." Hermione nodded in agreement beside her.

"Well, I'm going to check on her," her brother said as he stood up.

Ginny sighed. "Don't, George. I'll go. I have to get something in our room, anyway," she said. "I'll be right back."

She made her way to the bedroom she shared with Hermione and Evey and knocked on the door softly. When she received no answer, she walked in quietly. Evey wasn't there, and the bathroom door stood ajar. With a frown, Ginny retrieved her chapstick and made her way down to the kitchen, but Evey wasn't there, either. She didn't ask her mother if she'd seen her. She might get worried. Instead, she returned to the twins' room.

"Is she alright?" George asked before she could even close the door behind her.

"I don't know. She wasn't in our room, and she's not downstairs."

George jumped to his feet. "I knew it! We shouldn't have left her alone."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "She can't have gone very far. Maybe she's upstairs with Buckbeak, or talking with Sirius." She paused. "Um… she knows about Sirius, right? Because she might panic if she runs into him. I mean, she doesn't know the whole story, does she?"

"No, but she never struck me as the sort of person who panics easily," Fred pointed out.

Hermione stood up. "We should find her, just in case," she said, looking at Ginny. The other girl was uneasy, if not quite as jumpy as George.

They went upstairs to the attic and found Sirius rummaging through old boxes. Buckbeak was napping peacefully. Hermione said that Evey might have decided to explore the rest of the house, but they couldn't find her anywhere. They tried every room, including the mouldy living room and the rooms their mother had discarded because they were either too encumbered or overrun with Doxies. Finally, Ron pointed out that, unless Evey was hiding in Kreacher's den, she must have gone outside.

"I really don't think she would have stepped out of the house. She’s distraught, but she’s not _stupid_. And actually, there's one place we didn't check," Ginny said grimly. "The vampire's lair."

Ron went pale, as he always did whenever Dolohov was mentioned. "Why would she be there?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don't know, Ronald, but I know where she's not, and that's everywhere we've looked so far."

"It does sound like something she would do," Fred said with a sigh. "If she somehow discovered that there was a vampire around…" He trailed off, looking at George, who nodded reluctantly.

“She does have a weird obsession for vampires.”

Ron swallowed audibly. "We should tell mum."

"Don't be such a chicken," Ginny told him exasperatedly. "Mum is busy ironing, anyway. Let's just go and ask if they’ve seen her. They don't-" She caught herself at the last moment. _They don't bite,_ she'd been about to say. Well, Dolohov certainly did.

They made their way back upstairs, to the last floor, just below the attic, and stopped in front of the Death Eaters' room. Ginny hesitated for a moment, but she couldn't back down now, not after calling Ron a coward. She knocked on the door, and everyone held their breath.

Evey opened the door a moment later.

"What the hell are you doing there?" George asked her before she could speak. "We've been looking all over the place for you! Evey, you're not supposed to be here. They're dangerous. And how did you even know that they were here?"

Evey gazed at him impassively as he scolded her. "I was just about to leave. We were watching a movie," she said casually.

"A what?" Ron asked, obviously confused. Hermione shot him a reproachful glare. She must have explained the concept to him more than once already.

"Never mind," Evey said. "Look, I'm fine. There's no need to make a fuss."

"But there is!" George told her. "Do you even know who they are? _What_ they are?" he amended fiercely.

Ginny was trying to come up with something to calm everybody down, but Evey, at least, kept her cool. "Two former Death Eaters, one of them a vampire," she said matter-of-factly. "I was with you when you read the article about his death, remember?"

"Then you probably remember that he killed my uncles," George snarled. Ginny had never seen him so angry before; in fact, she had rarely seen him angry at all. Their break-up must have hit him harder than she'd assumed.

"George, I don't have to justify myself to you. I'm not a prisoner here – and neither are they." George started to protest but Evey cut him off. "Dumbledore requested that they stay in their room while you're here, probably because your mum asked him to. They're not captives. They're on our side." She raised her hands so that George wouldn't interrupt her. "It doesn't excuse what he did – what _they_ did – but they're trying to make up for it, alright? At least give them the benefit of the doubt."

"And if Greyback comes begging us to take him in, should we give him a second chance as well?"

They all turned to stare at George in horror. Hermione let out a small gasp and put a hand over her mouth. Ron turned a sickly shade of grey. Even Fred stood gaping, struck speechless for once. Ginny didn’t even know what to say. Merlin! What was _wrong_ with him?

Evey’s face was ashen, her eyes wide, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, couldn’t believe that _George_ would say such a thing.

The scene seemed to be frozen in time; nobody dared make a move or speak into the uncomfortable silence.

Suddenly a man materialised at Evey’s side. None of them had actually seen either Death Eater until then, and it came as more of a shock than Ginny had anticipated.

Antonin Dolohov. So this was the man who had murdered their uncles in cold blood, in front of their mother. He was the reason why Ginny had never known them. He looked impossibly young, she reflected, barely older than Evey herself. Did being turned into a vampire cause people to de-age? She racked her brain for the information – she must have learned that in class – but came up with nothing. She would ask Hermione later. Surely the other witch would have an explanation – for this, and for the fact that the vampire was up well before dark. Shouldn’t he be asleep? She dismissed her interrogations for the time being. There were more pressing matters.

Dolohov surveyed them all with a dark scowl, and Ginny felt Ron recoil slightly beside her. "There's no need to be like that," the Death Eater said eventually. Ginny wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but his voice sounded surprisingly…normal. _Human_. "We were just watching television. And Evey was about to leave, anyway."

"Well, I'm not leaving _now_ ," Evey said flatly. Without another glance at them, she stomped inside the Death Eaters’ room.

The vampire frowned after her, then returned his attention to them – to George, more specifically, as if he knew fair well that he was the one who had spoken so harshly to Evey a moment ago. "What's wrong with you, lad? Who says things like that?" he asked in a low growl. "I'm far from perfect, but at least I don't upset girls on purpose." He sighed resignedly. "Go tell your mother, if you must. I'll take whatever's coming."

And with that, he shut the door in their faces.


	9. A story of the impossible

Evey glanced at Tony after he’d closed the door; his face was a mask. She wiped the tears off her eyes impatiently. She couldn’t believe that George, of all people, would say something like that. She understood why he hated the vampire, but… She shook her head. There was no point dwelling on this now. She pointed to the edition of the _Daily Prophet_ that lay on one of their bedside tables. “Did you read it?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah… We both did. I try to scavenge newspapers as often as possible, to keep up with news of the outside world as best we can. Although the _Prophet_ isn’t exactly the most reliable source of information, admittedly.”

Evey nodded and sat down on Macnair’s bed. He looked up sharply from his book, frowning. “I need to ask you something,” she said without preamble. He didn’t respond, but simply settled his eyes on hers. “What happens to people who are bitten by a werewolf when the moon isn’t full?”

Macnair was silent for a moment. “Women will die, whether the moon is full or not,” he said eventually. “Men will be scarred for life, if they survive the attack.” He indicated a large, red scar on his upper arm. It had clearly not healed properly. “When a vampire bites, his saliva will heal the wound. It will even anaesthetise the punctured area, so the victim might not feel it at all, if they’re asleep. But a werewolf’s saliva works the other way around. It will contaminate the wound, make it painful and near-impossible to heal, at least not completely.” Well, Evey reflected, apparently he could talk, when he found the subject to his taste. “Even among men, the survival rate is quite low. Roughly a man in twelve will eventually become a werewolf. A good deal won’t survive the initial bite, either because the wound was too dire or because the saliva is lethal to them. And for those who make it through the attack, there will be a fair number who won’t survive the first transformation. It is said to be excruciating; some men will die simply because they can’t handle the sheer agony of it.”

She already knew all that. She'd learned this at Hogwarts years ago. “Has there ever been a case where a woman survived a–”

He didn’t let her finish. “No. Never.” His tone brooked no argument and he was already getting back to his book.

Evey stared at him indignantly. It was one thing to be antisocial, and another to be downright rude! She grabbed the book off his hand and his eyes widened, as if he couldn’t believe that she would dare. “I wasn’t finished,” she told him coolly, placing the book in her lap. “I was attacked by Greyback. Can you think of a reason why he would leave me completely unmarked?”

He was glaring at her. “Look, lass, if Tony wants to talk with you, it’s his problem, but leave me alone, alright? It’s bad enough that we’re stuck here, I don’t need some annoying bairn pestering me on top of everything else.”

Evey blinked. Bairn? She noted that he did have a slight accent, when he got angry. It was just too cute for her to be upset by his remark.

“Merlin, Wal, can’t you at least be civil?” Tony said. “You act like a bloody caveman! She just wants to ask you some questions, she’s not doing any harm!”

Macnair said something in a language Evey didn’t understand – presumably Gaelic – before pursuing in English. “You think I enjoy being locked up any more than you do?” he asked his brother. “This was _your_ idea, burn you. If you’re not happy about it, it’s not my problem. Now will you both leave me the hell alone?”

There was another knock on the door. “For fuck’s sake!” Macnair stood up, stalked to the door, and nearly tore it off its hinges. “What?”

It was Mrs Weasley. Evey saw Macnair tense visibly when she narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you out of clean shirts, dear?” the Weasley matriarch enquired with an arched eyebrow.

“No, ma’am,” Macnair mumbled.

“Then put something on, please. We’re not animals.”

Macnair walked back inside the room, looking subdued, and rummaged through the wardrobe until he found a short-sleeved grey shirt. He put it on with some difficulty. _Blimey, I need to know how she does that_ , Evey thought wonderingly. Mrs Weasley turned toward her. “Evey, dear, I think you will be more comfortable downstairs.” It didn’t sound like a suggestion.

“I’m perfectly at ease here, thank you. Besides, they have a television,” Evey said matter-of-factly. And quite a lot of books. Why go downstairs, when she had everything she needed right here?

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips. “Well, if it doesn’t bother Walden and Antonin, I’m sure you can stay a bit longer. But dinner will be served in the dining room for everyone, no exception.”

“No exception, except them?” Evey asked, cocking her head toward the two brothers.

“Antonin doesn’t eat, dear, and Walden prefers to eat here. Kreacher cooks for him and brings up his meals.”

“Can’t Kreacher bring up my meal, too?” She didn’t mean to be rude – she got along quite well with Mrs Weasley, who was an amazing cook besides – but Evey didn’t fancy having dinner with the others just now.

“Brat,” she heard Macnair mutter. She didn’t think Mrs Weasley heard him, but his brother likely did.

Tony cleared his throat. “She’s welcome to stay here, if she wants. We don’t mind,” he added with a pointed glance in Macnair’s direction.

Mrs Weasley ignored him. “I would rather you came downstairs, Evey. For dinner, at least.”

Evey sighed. “Fine.” But she would be staying here afterward, she decided, whether Mrs Weasley agreed or not. “When do I have to come down?”

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Don’t forget to wash your hands,” Mrs Weasley added before departing.

* * *

Evey rounded on Macnair as soon as the door was closed. “As I was saying…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! If I answer your questions, will you leave and never come back?” Macnair asked hopefully.

She gave him a level stare. “I _will_ come back.” He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “But I won’t bother you again, I promise.”

“I guess that’s the best I can hope for,” he said resignedly as he sat back on his bed. “What else did you want?”

“I have at least three good reasons to believe that Greyback bit me,” she told him evenly.

“How many times do I have to tell you–”

“I _know_ , alright? I know women usually don’t survive. Just hear me out, will you? And if you quit interrupting me all the time, your ordeal will be over that much sooner.” Grumbling unintelligibly, he gestured for her to go on. “My eyesight is perfect.” He frowned at her, obviously not seeing what that had to do with the matter at hand. “I’ve needed glasses since I started elementary school, and I wore lenses at Hogwarts, but now I don’t need them anymore.”

“What does that have to do with anything? I’m not a Healer, lass.”

“First you won’t talk and now you won’t shut up. Let me finish, for goodness’s sake.” He glared at her. “Don’t you think it’s weird that it happened just after Greyback attacked us? Werewolves have perfect eyesight, don’t they?” Technically, werewolves only had perfect vision when they were transformed, as far as she knew, but Macnair neither confirmed not contradicted her words. "Secondly,” she went on, “there was a lot of blood. _My_ blood, according to Professor Dumbledore.”

Macnair shook his head stubbornly. “Then you must have hurt yourself somehow.”

Evey snorted. “I wasn’t wounded at all. That’s actually part of my third argument: I have no scars.”

“Obviously, if you weren’t harmed,” he muttered.

“No, I mean even the ones I had before, they’re all gone.” He looked up at that. “I only noticed this morning. I didn’t have that many scars, see, so I didn’t realise right away. But the few I had, they’re gone.”

“That doesn’t make any bloody sense,” Macnair protested. “Even if he did bite you and you survived, somehow, werewolf bites don’t go away like that. Hell, Greyback himself has a scar from when he was turned, I’ve seen it myself. And it doesn’t matter if the moon is full or not: If he’d bitten you, there would be a mark, lass.”

“I know, but–”

“Anyway, I don’t know what you want with me. I’m not a werewolf expert. Besides, you were there. Don’t you know what happened?”

“I don’t remember most of it,” she admitted.

“Don’t you think you should start with that, instead of bothering me? Maybe Greyback Obliviated you, or messed with your recollection, for whatever reason. Dumbledore should be able to tell.” Evey made no reply, and Macnair gave her a shrewd look. “You haven’t told anyone else, have you?”

She shook her head. “The last thing I need right now is more attention.”

Macnair appeared to consider it. “Then have Tony do it. He can use Legilimency. He’s good with that.”

Evey turned to Tony. “Um… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said hesitantly.

“Please? I’m an orphan of war.” He stared at her incredulously and she heard Macnair snort. “I know it’s low, but I’ll use whatever works,” she went on unabashedly.

“Ugh, alright, fine! But not now. It’ll take time, and it’ll likely leave you in a frightful state. We don’t want Molly to see you like that. She’d kill me for sure.”

“You’re immortal,” Evey pointed out.

“It’s Molly we’re talking about. I don’t like my chances.”

She chuckled lightly. “Fair enough. After dinner, then.” She looked at her watch. “I should go. I won’t be long,” she promised as she opened the door.

* * *

“What the hell were you thinking, letting her in like that?” Walden demanded. “Tony, that girl is trouble.”

“Why? Because she was bitten by Greyback and survived?”

“Don’t be daft. She’s shocked, traumatised. Voldemort must have used Greyback to send a message, or a warning, or something like that. He wasn’t supposed to harm the girl, and that’s why she lives.” That was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“And how do you explain the rest? Her eyesight, the scars?”

Walden sighed heavily. “You’re just as bad as she is. Don’t you listen when I talk? If it’s such a rare occurrence, the least you could do is pay attention when it happens,” he said dryly. His brother was siding with the lass because she was pretty, he was certain of it. He wasn’t even trying to consider the matter rationally. Pretty women always had that effect on Tony. They addled his brain.

“You didn’t give any explanation for it,” Tony countered.

“Because it’s unrelated to whatever happened with Greyback! Tony, even if she’d been bitten, those are _not_ symptoms of lycanthropy. Existing scars don’t simply vanish when a man becomes a werewolf.”

“But how can you know the symptoms if it’s never happened to a woman before?”

Walden stared at him. “That’s not…” He trailed off. “That’s irrelevant. It’s _impossible_. Don’t you see? It’s all in her head. Most likely, this is some sort of elaborate coping mechanism. Even the blood part… I doubt Dumbledore would play along, doesn’t sound like him to tell even a white lie, but perhaps he was trying to spare her… The blood must have been her brother’s. Poor kid’s just overwhelmed with grief, is all.”

Tony was silent for a moment. “Fine, maybe you’re right. We’ll find out tonight, I guess,” he said with a grimace. “Whatever possessed you to tell her I was a Legilimens? I don’t want to see what happened.”

“Well, I don’t want her here at all, but I don’t remember being consulted about it,” Walden retorted angrily.

“Damn, Wal, she’s just a kid! Why are you being such a twat?” Tony asked in the same tone. “You used to be so nice. Too nice for your own good, Mum always said.”

“She also said it would get me in trouble, and it bloody well did. I’ve learned my lesson. Just make sure the girl stays out of my way,” he added before getting back to his book.


	10. I had a dream, which was not all a dream

Tony watched television as he waited for Evey to come back, without really paying attention to what was being said. Damn Walden! He was an apt Legilimens, true, but he had only ever used the ability for entirely different purposes. Women were always pleasantly impressed when a man knew what they were thinking, what they wanted. But to search Evey's mind, to witness what happened to her and her family… He shuddered. He'd seen the works of Greyback before. On the other hand, he was curious, he had to admit. Had the werewolf really bitten her? Walden's explanation made much more sense, of course, but the girl seemed lucid enough, given the circumstances.

Before long, there was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," Tony called out.

Walden didn’t even glance up from his book as Evey stepped quietly inside the room. She walked up to Tony and sat beside him on the bed. "Let's do this," she said determinedly.

Tony passed a hand through his hair, not for the first time that evening. "Right now?" he asked. "We can wait a bit. Let you digest all that food."

Evey shook her head. "I'd rather get it over with. Before I lose my nerve," she murmured.

Tony sighed. "You're sure about this?" She nodded. "Alright, fine." He turned to face her and gazed into her eyes. They were more hazel than green, he noticed idly, and speckled with gold around the pupils. "Try to relax. Take deep breaths. Focus on that night, on whatever you remember. Don't fight me. And if you want me to stop, say so right away." Evey nodded again, looking pale but resolute.

He didn't need to borrow Walden's wand for this; his own had been destroyed after he was sentenced to life in Azkaban. He cast the spell nonverbally instead. How strange it was that, even after all these years, he could still practice Legilimency as easily as he ever had.

It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. The girl's mind was full of the same image, the same scene repeated over and over again. A gangly boy of about fifteen was flying across a bedroom, and his course ended brutally against a wall, where his head burst open from the violence of the impact. Merlin, no wonder she had blocked whatever else had happened that night. This would be enough to give _him_ nightmares. If he ever slept, which he didn’t.

He could tell that Evey was not fighting him consciously, but she still attempted to prevent him – or herself – from seeing what came next. Of course, Tony saw it all from Evey’s perspective, and the images were blurry, unfocused. He almost broke the spell when Greyback threw her on the bed, but she wanted to know, and he couldn't sort through it all as easily as he would like. They had to take it as it came.

Thankfully – that may be the only thing he could be thankful for at this point – it appeared that the werewolf hadn’t raped her. He’d hurt her, though, and it looked like he had... Tony swallowed some bile at the sight. He knew that Greyback was known to partially devour his victims, but gods, he wasn’t even transformed!

Evey’s recollection became even more clouded after that, but it was clear enough that Greyback had indeed bitten her – _chewed_ her, really – then had apparently left Evey for dead after he'd had his fun with her. Considering the wounds she'd sustained, Tony would have expected her to die, even if her assailant hadn't been a werewolf. There was blood everywhere.

He couldn't say for sure how she'd ended up in Hogsmeade afterwards; one moment she was in her bed, lying in a pool of blood, panting heavily, and the next she was banging frantically on the front door of the Hog's Head. She must have Apparated, somehow. Tony noticed that her injuries were already gone by that time, although the blood that marred her torn pyjamas was still there.

He let go of her mind slowly, carefully, and focused on her, the present version of her that was sitting cross-legged in front of him. She was almost as white as he was, but she appeared remarkably calm. She wasn't crying, either; her eyes had taken on a faraway look. "Evey?" he whispered. "Are you alright, kid?"

She blinked at him, as if she was only now coming out of her trance. "Fine." Her voice was barely audible, even to him. "I’m fine. Thank you."

That had to be the most improbable thing anyone had ever thanked him for. "You want to lie down a moment?"

She nodded faintly and curled up in a ball on his bed. He left her to her thoughts, unsure what to do. Walden was looking at them, his brow furrowed, but he quickly shifted his gaze back to his book when Tony caught him watching.

Before a minute had gone by, he noticed that Evey had fallen asleep.

* * *

"She can't stay here all night," Walden muttered. "Molly will show up any second now, to check on her. I'm surprised she hasn't come by yet."

It was odd, admittedly, but not the oddest thing that had happened tonight. "Wal, Greyback  _did_ bite her. And don't tell me someone implanted fake memories in her head. It's gruelling work and I can't think of a reason why anyone would bother. Besides, I've seen fabricated memories before, and those certainly weren't."

"It's impossible," Walden insisted. "It's never happened before – _never_ , Tony. Not since there are werewolves roaming the earth, nowhere in the world has it ever happened. Werewolf bites are fatal to women. He can't have bitten her. It's _impossible_ ," he repeated stubbornly.

"'It's only impossible until someone does it for the first time _,_ '" Tony said with a bitter smile. "How many times must I tell you that? You also said that using electricity to create magical devices was impossible, but I did it."

"Those are two completely different issues," Walden pointed out. "Maybe she created the memories herself. It's not unheard of."

"Why in the blazes would she create memories like _that_? People do that to avoid the harsh truth, not to make things worse!"

"But it doesn't make any sense," Walden said with exasperation.

"Not everything makes sense, you know. I'm _immortal_ , for Merlin's sake. Is it really so hard for you to conceive that a woman might have survived a werewolf bite?" He could be so bloody narrow-minded, sometimes.

There was a knock on the door. Walden glared at him and returned his attention to his book, to show that, whatever happened next, it was not his problem. The door opened before Tony could move and Molly narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "Why is Evey still here?" she demanded.

"She…um, she fell asleep." He tucked his thumb in the girl's direction.

Molly crossed her arms over her chest. "She can't sleep here!"

Tony raised his arms in a placating gesture. "No, no, I know. She just…um, she was feeling a bit out of sorts, so I told her to lie down for a bit and…and then she fell asleep," he explained haltingly. "I mean, she hasn't slept much since…since she arrived here. She must be exhausted."

Molly barged inside the room and made her way to Tony's bed. She placed a hand lightly on Evey's shoulder. "Wake up, dear. It's time to go to bed." The girl didn't react. She was snoring softly.

"Maybe you should let her sleep here?" Tony said tentatively. "I'll go somewhere else, if you want. And Walden will be sleeping, anyway."

Molly was shaking her head firmly. "No. Absolutely not." She addressed the girl once more. "Evangeline," she said, a little louder than before, "let's get you in your own bed, dear. You'll be more comfortable."

Evey slowly uncurled from her foetal position and turned around, her eyes opening a fraction. "I think I'll stay here, thank you," she murmured sleepily.

"No, no, you can't sleep here. Come now," Molly said forcefully.

"Mrs Weasley," she whispered, "if I go to my own bed now, you can be sure that I won't be sleeping, and that means I'll sneak back here as soon as possible, to try and finally get some rest. I haven't slept for more than minutes at a time since I woke up at Hogwarts." She smiled drowsily. "I promise we'll be chaste." Tony gaped at her.

Uh-oh. Now he was dead for sure.

Molly looked at Evey in shock before turning to him, hands on her hips. "If you – if either of you! – even _think_ of-"

"Molly, come on! She's just a kid. It never even crossed my mind, I swear." That wasn't entirely true, but he couldn't blush anymore, and that meant that he could lie much more smoothly than before. Besides, it had been nothing more than an idle thought. He had been in Azkaban for fourteen years, for Merlin's sake. Have some mercy.

Molly studied him for a long time. "Just tonight," she said eventually. "The door remains open. And you stay away from that bed!" she added dangerously.

"I won't go anywhere near it, I promise." He stood and took a few steps away from the bed, leaning against the windowsill. He wouldn't put it past Molly to stand watch in the hall all night to make certain that he respected that condition. He glanced down at the girl and realised that she'd drifted off to sleep once more.

"Very well," Molly said reluctantly. "But just tonight!" she repeated before stepping briskly into the corridor.

* * *

Molly walked away hesitantly, but she forced herself not to look over her shoulder.

Of course, she had expected some difficulties when Dumbledore explained what had happened to Evey and announced that she would be staying here, and not only because of her history with George. Although, if she was honest with herself, Molly had to admit that she had hoped they might reconcile. She rather liked the young woman, despite her fiery temperament. She had been a surprisingly positive influence on her son in the few months they'd been together.

She shouldn't have agreed to let Evey stay in Antonin's room. He might fancy himself a capable liar, but she knew him better than he thought. He'd always been a ladies' man. Still, she had faith that he wouldn't do anything foolish. Walden would make certain that he behaved, in any case. He was quite sensible, for a man. And the girl did need to sleep. Ginny and Hermione had told Molly that, whenever they woke up, Evey was always wide awake and staring out the window. If being upstairs helped her sleep… Well, in any case, it was only the one night.

It was not that Antonin was a bad person, far from it – in spite of everything that had happened. He was incredibly kind and supportive and he had helped taking care of the children more than once, when they were younger. He hadn't joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because he despised Muggles or believed in Pure-blood supremacy. He had simply been young and enticed by the opportunity that presented itself to him, by the promise that the world would be open to him. His job at the Ministry had been unsatisfying, a real disappointment to him, who always overflowed with ambitious ideas and projects.

It was truly uncanny, how young he looked now – as young as he’d looked when Molly had first met him, all those years ago. Tony had explained that it was a rare side effect of being turned into a vampire, but Molly wasn’t sure if she believed it. There were other…irregularities, the fact that he didn’t sleep during the day not the least of them. But Dumbledore had assured her – them, really, for Molly was hardly the only one who’d attempted to keep the Death Eaters out of Grimmauld Place – that he was perfectly safe. That they both were.

As for what happened to Fabian and Gideon… It was evident, at the time, that Walden and Antonin were there against their will. Molly remembered it quite clearly.

The Lestrange woman had been in charge, and she had pointed her wand at Molly's brothers, once they'd been restrained – they had been caught by surprise, and they were outnumbered. Bellatrix had donned a twisted grin when her husband explained the situation. Walden hadn't dared gaze at Molly, but Antonin had given her a stricken look. They were both dishevelled and Antonin was even skinnier and paler than usual. She'd shaken her head at him – she'd been Silenced by one of the Lestranges, but he should understand what she meant. It was pointless, she knew – even then, she'd known that her brothers would die; she was only surprised that she'd survived.

They'd had no choice, not that day, but that didn't mean she forgave them. They had turned their back on Dumbledore willingly, and youth couldn't excuse everything – and certainly not murder.


	11. And life is usually so much fairer

_Fifteen years ago_

Antonin stood next to Walden, the Dark Lord gazing down on them from his chair on the dais. More Death Eaters were gathered behind them, waiting in ominous silence.

Tony spoke quickly. "My Lord, I don't know how it happened. I'm quite sure that the girl was securely bound. I–"

The Dark Lord raised a silencing hand. His voice was soft, but with a steely undertone. "Do you take me for a fool, Antonin?"

Tony swallowed hard. "I...no, of course not, my Lord. I-"

"You let the child go. No, do not deny it. I know you did." He gestured toward Walden. "I have read it in his mind. He is not quite as capable an Occlumens as you are."

"Traitors!" Bellatrix shouted from somewhere behind them.

The Dark Lord smiled thinly. "Such a bizarre weakness. You have witnessed so many men being tortured in my name, you have created most of the instruments employed to torture them, and yet this child suffers one session with Travers and you feel the urge to release her." He cocked his head slightly, as if trying to find a new angle of perspective. "Of course, weakness will not be tolerated. You do not realise what you have cost us. That child was a valuable hostage. She would have given us an advantage over the Order that cannot now be regained."

"My Lord, I-" Tony began again.

"You shall speak when commanded!" The Dark Lord's eyes flashed in sudden anger. He turned to someone behind Antonin. "Rabastan, please commence punishment while I decide what to do with these worms."

Tony closed his eyes, bracing himself for the oncoming pain. He heard his fellow Death Eater cast the curse. " _Crucio!_ "

Nothing happened.

Then he felt Walden fall to his knees beside him, grunting in pain.

Tony's eyes flew open. He turned to his brother, staring in horror. Facing the Dark Lord once more, he spoke with urgency. "My Lord, it was me. _I_ let the girl go. It was my idea! Walden had nothing to do with it. He didn't even know!" He glanced to his left as his brother started to writhe and scream. "My Lord, I beg you-" He fell to his knees. "I will find her. I will track her down and bring her back. I'll…I’ll use Greyback.” The very idea of asking any favour of the mad wolf – not to mention the possibility that he might indeed find the poor girl – was almost enough to make him choke on his own words, but he couldn’t bear to see his brother being tortured. It was Tony’s fault that Walden was here, that he had to endure such pain. Of course, the Dark Lord knew that very well. “Please, I-"

"We both know that that's not going to happen. Dumbledore will have her securely locked away. There is no retrieving her now. Not even our furry…ally could manage that." He paused, looking thoughtful.

Walden's agonizing cries were getting weaker. If he was kept under the curse much longer, there could be permanent damage. Tony opened his mouth to plead again, but the Dark Lord cut him off with a brisk wave of his hand. Tony closed his eyes, unbidden tears streaming down his face, and waited.

At last, the Dark Lord commanded Lestrange to stop. Tony scrambled back to his feet, wanting to make sure that his brother was alright. He was abruptly thrown into the air and soon found himself hanging upside down, Walden out of his line of sight. He could hear him whimper, though.

The Dark Lord spoke again. "Augustus. This piece of information that you brought to my attention earlier… Are you quite certain of its reliability?"

Rookwood answered, his voice tinged with apprehension. "Great Lord, it comes from a very reliable source. I think we can safely hold it true."

The Dark Lord gave an approving nod. "Very good." He turned to someone else. "Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, you will find this place tonight and proceed as discussed. You will take these two with you and make sure that they…participate."

Bellatrix let out a wild cackle. Her husband answered quietly. "As you command, my Lord, so shall it be done."

The Dark Lord turned his daunting gaze to Antonin. He looked even more terrifying from Tony's vantage point. "I expect a positive outcome to this little sortie. Anything else will mean harm to your brother. You are too valuable to be disposed of, but he is expendable at this point."

Antonin nodded vigorously. "As you command, my Lord. I won't fail."

"Do not disappoint," the Dark Lord said in a threatening voice. He gestured briefly and Antonin fell to the ground, hitting it hard.

* * *

They were standing in the shadows, across the street from a plain-looking brick house. It was freezing cold. Antonin blew some warm air into his cupped hands. "So… What are we doing here, exactly?" he asked, glancing at Walden. His brother hadn’t said a word since he’d been tortured that morning. His mouth was set in a grim line.

Bellatrix glared at Tony menacingly. "Keep your mouth shut, maggot!"

Her husband gave them both a sharp glance. "Will you be quiet?" He looked back to the house. There was light coming from the only visible window on the ground floor. "Bella, Stan, you get in first. I'll follow. You two," he went on, indicating Tony and Walden, "you stand watch outside until we tell you to come in. Let's go."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we wait for whoever's in there to go to bed?"

Rodolphus let out an annoyed sigh. "It doesn't matter. They won't expect us. We will have the element of surprise and they'll be outnumbered besides. Let's _go_ ," he said again, more forcefully.

The five Death Eaters crossed the road, keeping to the shadows. Bellatrix walked ahead and did not break stride when she came to the front door, blasting it open with a nonchalant flick of her wand. Tony and Walden waited outside, as instructed. Shouts came from inside, accompanied by flashes of light. He heard a woman scream.

Of course; the Dark Lord was getting back at him in the worst possible way. Tony felt sick. _Focus, damn you!_ _If you screw this up, Walden is as good as dead._ Glancing at his brother, he noticed how uncommonly pale he looked.

The house was suddenly quiet. Rodolphus called from inside. "Get in."

Taking a deep breath, Tony went in, Walden on his heels. He almost walked into Molly.

He would have recognised that hair anywhere. She was stuck in mid-air, arms hanging stiffly at her sides, her back to him. For a moment, he could only stand there, gaping. _No. Not this. Anything but this._

Bellatrix shook him out of his stupor. "Move, you filthy rat! Get in!" She pushed him further inside the house.

On the other side of the room, two flame-haired men, obviously twins, had been bound to a chair. Fabian and Gideon Prewett. They were staring angrily at Rodolphus, who stood watching them, leaning nonchalantly against a dining table. Bellatrix's husband looked thoroughly bored. Beside him, Rabastan had his wand pointed at Molly.

Then the other men spotted Antonin and Walden. Their angry expressions turned to shock. Tony couldn't meet their eyes. He couldn't look at Molly, either. He couldn't… "I can't. Don't make me do this," he murmured with a pleading look in Rodolphus's direction. "Please."

Bellatrix gave a maniacal laugh. "Idiot! Did you think it would be easy? Did you really believe that you could try to deceive the Great Lord and not suffer for it?" She snorted. "You naive Mudblood. You don't _deserve_ this opportunity. You should have been executed, traitors." She leered at Walden. "I can't _wait_ to get to work on your dear brother. Torturing him will be quite pleasant. I will kill him as you watch, vermin, and then it will be your turn."

Rodolphus cut in before she could ramble on. "Do you question the will of the Great Lord, my wife?" She gave him an outraged glare, opening her mouth to retort. He didn't let her. "He is too valuable, fool woman. He will be punished in accordance to the Great Lord's will and no more." His wife's gaze should have set him afire. He ignored her, returning his attention to Antonin. "Here's the deal. Either you kill one each," he pointed at Fabian and Gideon, "or Bella and I kill the three of them, and we'll make it as painful as we can,” he said flatly. “If you do as you're told, the woman goes free. It's quite simple, really." He looked at Tony and Walden expectantly.

"I…" Tony started. He gulped down some air. "Will you really let Molly go, alive and unscathed?” Had they known beforehand that he knew her, or was this simply an unlucky coincidence? The first option, almost certainly. The Dark Lord couldn’t kill him, so he was using emotional torture to keep him in line. Killing Walden outright wasn’t subtle enough and, whatever the Dark Lord claimed, Tony’s brother had been, and could still be, useful to their cause. “I want your word on it, Rod. Yours, not _hers_ ," he added, cocking his head toward Bellatrix. She made a rude gesture at him.

Rodolphus nodded. "You have my word. No harm will come to her. I will make sure of it."

Tony closed his eyes. Memories came rushing by. Countless dinners at the Burrow. Playing with the kids, teaching them how to use the small brooms he'd gotten them for Christmas. Molly laughing so hard at his silly jokes that tears leaked out of her eyes.

Tony opened his eyes to look at her. She was staring at him, crying, silently pleading him. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He turned to Walden, who looked ready to faint. The message passed between them without either of them having to speak. What else could they do? They had saved some random teenage girl they didn't know, and now they had to pay for it – an unfair price: a life for the price of two.

Swallowing hard, they raised their wands in unison, arms shaking, and pointed them at the Prewett twins.

The room flashed green.


	12. However improbable, it must be the truth

Evey woke up feeling invigorated. Finally, a full night of restful sleep. She stretched languorously.

Tony was sitting against the opposite wall. A candle was floating at his side, and he had a book in his hands, but he was looking at the window longingly, though the heavy, sun-blocking curtains were still closed. "Morning," Evey said softly. She didn't know if Macnair was awake yet.

Tony turned to face her and smiled brightly. He stood up and joined her on the bed after glancing briefly toward the open door – presumably to make certain that Mrs Weasley wasn’t there.

What had Evey been thinking the previous evening? _I promise we’ll be chaste._ What a stupid thing to say. She must have been too upset, too exhausted to think rationally.

"Hey, kiddo. How are you feeling?"

She wished he would stop calling her that. She wasn’t a child, for Merlin's sake. "Great, improbably enough," she replied truthfully. She felt full of energy, and hungry as a bear. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she added.

She was more than a little embarrassed, knowing exactly what he'd witnessed: how useless she’d been, how weak. Embarrassment was probably the last thing she should feel, but she couldn't help it. It just added to the crushing, unwarranted guilt she couldn't quite dispel. She was gifted in the use of wandless magic; she should have done something, anything, to save her family. Instead she had just stood there, paralysed with fear, and had watched helplessly as Greyback murdered one of the people she loved most in the world. Not a minute went by that she didn't replay the scene in her head. She should have done  _something_ , damn her.

Tony's grin faded. "I'm sorry you had to go through it in the first place."

She made a dismissive gesture; she didn't want to expand on the matter. "About the biting part, though…" she said. "Macnair is right. It shouldn't be possible."

It had been more than a simple bite; Greyback had tried to _eat_ her! It seemed impossible, even though she’d seen it when Tony had used Legilimency on her. He’d replayed the entire dreadful night, in painful details – though some pieces were still missing. How had Evey healed from her wounds? How was she even _alive_? There had been so much blood!

Tony’s smile was back. "You can call him Walden, you know. Anyone who's withstood his snores earns that right."

"Most likely, the snores just lulled me into sleep. Both my dad and my brother snored like chainsaws," she told him with a shrug. "I guess I'm used to the sound."

"Lucky you," he said with a grimace. "Anyway, about the…biting," he went on more seriously. "Er…well, I've got nothing, actually. I don't know shit about werewolves, except the basic facts. In any case, this is uncharted territory. Nobody would know anything about this particular situation." He hesitated. "Have you noticed any other…symptoms, besides your improved eyesight and perfectly smooth skin?"

Evey thought about it for a minute. "I think my metabolism is faster than it used to be. I've lost some weight since the attack, but I've been eating normally. More than usual, actually. I thought I might simply be eating my grief, but with what we know now..." She sighed. "It's hard to say what's due to emotional response and shock, and what might come from what Greyback did to me."

"Do you know where he bit you, exactly?" Macnair asked.

She turned toward him, startled. She hadn't realised that he was awake. He was sitting against the head of his bed, still wearing the t-shirt he'd put on the day before. The image on it was too faded for Evey to make out what it was. "First in the shoulder. Right shoulder, I think." Tony nodded in confirmation. He’d witnessed it first-hand, after all. “Then in several other places.” Her stomach rebelled at the thought, and Evey had to hold back a violent spell of nausea. She wished that Tony could erase the memories, now that she knew what had happened.

"Can I see your shoulder?" Macnair asked.

"My shoulder?" Evey repeated with a frown. "Um…sure. Why not." She stood up, took the three steps that separated them, and sat down on his bed. He retrieved his wand from under his pillow and magically opened the curtains, to give them more light. Evey reflexively glanced at Tony as sunlight poured into the bedroom, but the vampire didn't burst into flames. He gave her a toothy grin, as if he'd read her mind. Which, in his case, was not a figure of speech.

Evey was wearing a simple tank top with shorts – the ancient house wasn’t well insulated, and it was an uncommonly warm summer in England. Macnair removed the strap and moved his right hand across her shoulder. "Do you feel anything? Does it tingle, or something?" It did tingle a bit, but Evey didn’t think it had anything to do with an invisible bite mark, so she shook her head. "There's no trace at all, nothing." He sounded puzzled. "Where else did you have a scar, before…all that?" he asked after a moment.

"On my knee." She moved to present him with her left knee and pointed at a specific spot. "Here. It looked like a small hook." She traced an imaginary hook where the scar had been – she couldn’t even remember where it had come from. The skin was entirely smooth now, of course. Macnair retraced it exactly as she had, and Evey shivered.  _He could at least ask, before doing that_ , she thought irritably.

"If it's true…" he began to say.

She rolled her eyes. "Look, if you're going to keep doubting me at every turn–"

"I believe you, alright?" he said. "Well, I believe in Tony's abilities, anyway. But you have to understand, lass, you might as well be telling me that the earth is square or that the sky is pink. I need to think it through." He was silent for a moment. "How bad was your eyesight?"

"I was short-sighed and astigmatic. Everything was a bit blurry when I wasn't wearing my lenses. I couldn't have watched the television from the bed."

He appeared to consider that. "I'm not sure how it works for them. Werewolves, I mean. I don't know if those with impaired sight gain perfect vision when they're turned. A werewolf's senses are enhanced, of course, but only during the full moon. You might want to ask that Lupin bloke. Maybe he'll know more."

"Professor Lupin? Why, is he here?"

"He doesn't live here, I think, but he was there when we arrived," Tony answered. He was leaning against the wall, between the two beds, his long arms crossed over his chest. "But if Evey asks, they'll know something's up."

Macnair – Walden, she amended – gave his brother a pointed look. "She can't keep it to herself forever. Do you have any idea how important this is?"

"You want to turn her into a circus freak, Wal? Because that's what's going to happen, if anyone finds out. I think she could do without that right now."

Evey cleared her throat to get their attention. "Don't fight over me," she said with a smirk. She looked at Walden. "I'm certainly not telling anyone else at present. You can look into it, if you want, but I don't want anyone else involved."

He held her gaze steadily. "As you wish. I'm not sure what I can do, though."

"You can help me puzzle it out. I'm not sure what good it will do, but I'd like to know the extent of the damage."

"Damage?" Walden repeated. "It doesn't sound like damage to me. Extra perks, more like. Don't you realise how lucky you are to even be alive?"

She grimaced. "Oh yes, lucky me. I lost my entire family, but my eyesight is perfect. That's just bloody fantastic."

"That's not what I meant," he mumbled.

Evey sighed heavily. "I know. Let's just take it one step at a time, see if anything weird happens." She paused, struck by a sudden thought. "You don't think I'll actually turn into a werewolf, do you?"

"We won't know until next month. The full moon is on the tenth of August. But I doubt it will be the case," he added quickly when he glimpsed the horrified expression on her face. "Greyback wasn't transformed, was he? The last full moon occurred a few days before he attacked you." Evey nodded. "Then I think we can rule that out. We'll do as you say, and just record any odd thing. If there are any. For all we know, this is temporary."

"I'm temporarily alive?" Evey asked with a scowl.

"No, I mean that maybe the…effects will wear out. I don't know. We'll see. Anyway. I hope you were not planning on using our bathroom, on top of everything else," Walden said as he stood up and walked toward the other room.


	13. The shield that guards the realms of men

Evey spent most of her time upstairs after that first night, in what Ron called "the vampire's lair". Walden didn't seem to mind as much as he made it sound, and Tony was positively beaming. They had improbable discussions, watched television, played board games, or sometimes simply sat in silence and read. Mrs Weasley gave up trying to have Evey come down and stay with the others, after a while. Evey stood her ground almost defiantly, in front of everyone, and said that she would remain in the former Death Eaters' room, whether Mrs Weasley liked it or not. She would sleep there, too, as long as Walden and Tony agreed to it - thankfully, they did.

She realised that she was being a brat, as Walden had so delicately put it, but she felt more at home with the outsiders than with anyone else, although she spent an entire afternoon talking with Sirius Black in the attic, when she found out that there was a hippogriff there. Nobody had told her why the former Azkaban inmate was here, so she asked him directly. It was quite a story. Evey wanted to know how people went about becoming Animagi, but he kindly explained that it was a long, arduous process and that it was ideally achieved with proper, official guidance. Evey resolved to look into it when she had a decent library at her disposal.

On 6th August, Harry Potter joined them at the Grimmauld Place. Evey had heard about the Dementor attack in Little Whinging, and she also knew that Harry would have to attend a formal hearing at the Ministry in a few days. It seemed preposterous to her that anyone would consider Harry to be in the wrong – he had been _attacked_ by _Dementors_ , for crying out loud, creatures that were supposed to be under the authority of the Ministry – but apparently, there was still a chance that he might be expelled from Hogwarts for using magic outside of school, even in self-defence. It didn't make any sense but, as Ginny pointed out, the wizarding world didn't hold Harry in high esteem at the moment. They had shown her several articles from the _Daily Prophet_ in which they basically said that Harry was loony. Evey hadn't realised that the Ministry – and its puppet, the sacrosanct newspaper – refused to acknowledge Voldemort's return; she had never received the _Daily Prophet_ at home.

As the night of the full moon approached, Evey began to worry. What if she _did_ turn into a werewolf? She would be a danger to everyone. And, well, she could die, too. First transformations were said to be the worst, and the survival rate was frighteningly low, as Walden had pointed out the first time they’d met. She considered asking them to bind her, just in case, but Tony laughed it off. “If you do turn,” he told her, “I’ll deal with you, kid. I’m much stronger than I look.” He flexed his absence of biceps to demonstrate, and Evey couldn’t help but giggle. He always seemed to take everything lightly, but when he noticed that she was still nervous, gnawing on her fingernails as she often did, Tony promised that he’d Stun her if she showed any sign of transforming. Evey also reluctantly agreed that Professor Dumbledore should be alerted, if she was indeed a werewolf. She would require Wolfsbane – though she had no idea how she could afford it. The potion was difficult to brew and expensive, and Evey had no money. Her Muggle bank accounts had been frozen after the authorities had declared her dead, and she didn’t have an account at Gringotts. Her parents used to exchange Muggle money there every year, to buy Evey’s school supplies and leave her a bit of pocket money, but that was it.

Tony assured her that she was being silly. If she truly needed Wolfsbane, either the Order would purchase it for her, or Professor Snape would brew it himself. She really shouldn’t worry.

_Easier said than done_ , she’d muttered to herself several times that day, but it turned out that she’d made a fuss over nothing. As the sun dipped lower and lower beyond the horizon, Evey realised that she was exhausted. If she’d been about to turn into a monstrous wolf, she would be restless, aggressive, moody – anything but tired, really. When the moon finally became visible in the night sky, nothing happened. Satisfied that she wouldn’t suddenly sprout fur and attack anyone, Evey had fallen into a deep sleep.

* * *

August was a good month, all things considered. Everything turned out well – Evey didn’t become a werewolf, which meant that her secret was safe for now; Harry was acquitted and would return to Hogwarts the next month, and there was no news of any other attack committed by Death Eaters or known Voldemort partisans. There were no sightings of Greyback, either, but even if the wolf had made an appearance, Evey was stuck at the Headquarters for the time being. She would bide her time until she could hunt him down and…deal with him.

Soon, September was upon them. George, Fred, Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione went back to school, and life at the Black house changed drastically. Mrs Weasley was supposed to return to the Burrow, but she hesitated to leave Evey alone with Tony and Walden, even though Sirius would remain at the Headquarters. They had an animated discussion about it, but Evey was adamant that she would not be going anywhere without the other two. In the end, it was settled that Mrs Weasley would come by twice a week to make certain that everything was in order – and that Evey was being properly fed, presumably.

Kreacher, the Blacks' old house elf, could be a real jerk when addressing most people, Sirius included, but he practically worshipped Walden, possibly because he was a Pure-blood wizard and because it wasn't obvious to Kreacher that he had turned his back on Voldemort. Sirius's clear disdain toward the former Death Eater may have something to do with that - that, and the fact that Walden treated the elf with the utmost respect, which never failed to make Sirius scoff. In any case, the house elf fed Walden the most scrumptious meals every day without fault. He tolerated Antonin, but it hardly mattered, since the vampire didn't have to eat. It soon became obvious that Sirius would have to cook his own meals, however; Kreacher couldn't disobey a direct order from his master, but when commanded to bring Sirius food, it would consist of a decomposed rat, or mashed Doxies. The house elf seemed unsure how to address Evey. She was Muggle-born, so in all logic he should have despised her, as he had Hermione, but it was clear that she was a friend of Walden, and Kreacher was reluctant to anger him. He therefore settled for ignoring her, although at Walden's request, he brought her proper meals when she didn't feel like cooking for herself. When he realised that, Walden also tried to convince the house elf to cook for Sirius, but Kreacher drew the line there, apparently.

As a result, Evey had to make sure that Sirius ate regularly, because his morale was spiralling downwards rapidly as the days wore on, and he couldn't be bothered to cook. They tried to spend as much time with him as he would allow, but no matter what they did, he became gloomier by the day. Evey soon began to hope that Harry would be back for the winter break.

Early in October, they all settled down in the dining room for breakfast, as usual – Evey had cooked some extra bacon and eggs for Sirius – but he only seemed to be pushing his food around listlessly. She tried to engage him in conversation, but he only grumbled in reply, so she turned to Walden instead. "I never really asked about Buckbeak," she said. "Why was he sentenced to death in the first place? I mean, I know he scratched Malfoy, but the whiny little shit asked for it, didn't he? It would never stand in trial."

Walden shook his head. "Hagrid shouldn't have had hippogriffs there in the first place. They're classified as XXX, only to be handled by competent wizards. I'm not saying Hagrid's not competent, but third years are a little young for that sort of things. Now, of course Malfoy had it coming, but lawfully, Hagrid was at fault. He's lucky he didn't receive a formal blame and wasn't sacked. I'm sure Dumbledore played a part in that."

Sirius roused from his apathetic state. "And I'm sure Lucius Malfoy had nothing to do with sentencing the poor beast to death," he said with a sneer.

"He certainly sped things along. He always does," Walden replied quietly. "But the judge would have passed the same verdict, even if Lucius hadn't involved himself. You have to understand, the people who sit in those trials are old, useless gits. They wouldn't know a hippogriff from a griffin. They're not field workers, they're paper-pushers. If the world was right, I would be the judge of these things, but my opinion is often disregarded, when they even ask for it. When a kid's been injured, they won't look further into the matter. The beast is always at fault, or the beast's owner if it isn't sentient."

"Why would they ask for your opinion? You're just the executioner," Sirius said with a small frown.

"The executioner?" Evey repeated incredulously. "That's the tiniest part of his job! Sirius, he takes care of every single matter that has to do with magical creatures in all of Scotland. He's the one they send when there's a rabid werewolf on the loose, or when a horde of forest trolls decides to go down to the nearest Muggle village for breakfast. He also finds injured beasts and makes sure they're given proper care, and he checks the wards that protect the reservations every week. And that's just part of the job. He's on duty at all times."

They were all staring at her in astonishment. "How do you know all that?" Walden asked in a puzzled voice. "I never told you about my job."

"Because I wanted to work with you," she explained sheepishly. "Well, I still do," she amended. "We had career counselling during our fifth year, and that's the only thing Professor Snape could come up with." She smiled. "I told him I wanted to work with magical creatures, but I didn't want a boring job. I wanted something that allowed me to use everything I learned in class and more, including Potions and Herbology, and Transfiguration. I wanted daily adventures. And it had to be in Scotland."

“Why did it have to be in Scot-?” Walden began to say, but Sirius cut him off.

" _Snape_ told you to work with him? To become…what is it even called?” He scoffed. “Couldn't he come up with an even _riskier_ profession?"

Evey drew herself up. "The official title is Warden of the North, or Warden of Scotland. And it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Tony intervened with a small chuckle. "You've seen Walden without his shirt, haven't you?" he asked her wryly.

_Gods, don't let me blush_ , Evey prayed silently. Walden rarely bothered to dress properly, now that Mrs Weasley wasn't there to berate him as often as before. It was always difficult for Evey not to stare at him. Well, to be fair, if she were the one wandering around the house without a blouse, they would likely stare at her, too. "They're just scars. He's alive, isn't he?" she said dismissively. “Besides, it only shows that he could use some assistance. And someone to bring him flowers whenever he’s in St Mungo.” She grinned.

Walden was gazing at her, his mismatched blue eyes steady. "It _is_ dangerous, lass. More than you know."

"Well, _I_ am dangerous," she retorted sweetly. "More than you know."

Walden shook his head. "I don't take on apprentices, V."

"I know, they told me that at the Ministry. But it looks like fate brought us together."

Walden let out a mirthless bark of a laugh. "Fate. Right. I'm sorry, but you'll have to find something else."

Evey was about to respond when Mrs Weasley walked in. "Morning, everyone," she called around briskly. As usual, she was carrying several bags of food. Tony stood up to help her, but she gestured for him to stay where he was. It always astounded Evey that no one ever commented on the fact that the vampire was wide awake during the day, though he did make an effort not to stand directly in sunlight where others could see. Apparently, the blood they were giving him - animal blood - had no effect on him. He had to drink human blood, preferably at the source, and Evey had discovered soon after her arrival that Walden was that source. Feeding sessions were always a bit awkward. She'd offered to take turns with Walden, but neither of them would hear of it.

Mrs Weasley dropped the groceries in the kitchen and sat down with them for a moment. Studying Evey with narrowed eyes, she asked if everything was alright.

"Absolutely fine," Evey replied truthfully.

"We were just discussing Evey's career options," Tony said with a sly smile. She turned to glare at him.

"Indeed? What did you have in mind, dear?" Mrs Weasley asked her curiously.

"She wants to work with Walden," Tony answered before Evey could open her mouth. Merlin, he could be infuriating.

"Oh, is that so?" Mrs Weasley's mouth was a tight line. "I don't think that's much of a career." Walden frowned but said nothing. "But if you want to work with magical beasts, dear, there are many alternatives. Arthur knows someone at the Ministry – Nathaniel Bayle – who works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I'm sure he can help you find something that's more…" She trailed off, at a loss for the proper term.

"Suitable?" Evey supplied grimly.

Mrs Weasley nodded. "Indeed. Arthur could ask him to–"

"Molly?" Tony interrupted her almost timidly. She scowled at him. "Bayle's a partisan of Voldemort."

"Of course he's not! He's a gentleman, and he's involved with many charity associations," Mrs Weasley said indignantly.

Tony sighed. "I know. He was always good at deceiving the rest of the world. But you probably remember Augustus…" Mrs Weasley paled. "Yeah. He was quite charming too, wasn't he? They're not all as obvious as Bellatrix, you know."

"It's not just that, either," Walden added. "There were accusations of statutory rape made against him a few years ago–"

"I’ve never heard about any such accusations," Mrs Weasley said.

"Few people did. Yaxley and Malfoy stifled the rumours, and the case was dropped altogether before it even went to trial," Walden explained quietly.

Mrs Weasley was speechless for a moment, but she recovered quickly. She turned to Evey. "In any case, dear, I believe you should do some research on universities before making a final decision. To consider your options."

Evey nodded meekly. "I will, Mrs Weasley." She would not, but she didn't want to start a fight. Walden threw her a shrewd look. Of course, if she couldn’t convince him, she wouldn’t have much choice but to pick a different career.


	14. What doesn't kill you makes you stranger

Walden woke up with a start when he heard Evey grunt in pain. He sat up on his bed, squinting in the darkness. "V? You alright, kid?"

She mumbled something he didn't quite catch, but he heard her cry out an instant later. He lit up his wand, stood and made his way to her bed. Evey lay curled up in a ball, as she often did, and she had her back to him. She was holding her arm. "It fucking hurts," he heard her mumble.

Walden sat down next to her. "Let me see," he commanded. When she didn't comply, he placed his wand on the bed and took her hand off her arm, and this time she whimpered. What the hell was wrong with her?

He saw what it was right away. Her left arm was covered with scratches, deep gashes that bled profusely. "Shit!" he muttered. He grabbed his wand and pointed it at the wounds, ready to send a basic healing spell before alerting the others, but he noticed that the injuries were closing already. A moment later, they were gone entirely. Walden stared at her bloodied arm in shock. That might explain why Greyback's attack hadn't left any mark on her, but where did these new injuries even come from? A quick glance around the room confirmed that they were alone.

Evey squirmed and tried to turn toward him, but then she groaned again, clutching her shoulder this time. Blood oozed through her pyjama top. "Make it stop," she said pleadingly.

Before Walden could come up with a reassuring reply, Tony banged the door open. "Everything alright? I heard–" He saw Evey, pale and covered in blood and sweat. "Bloody hell!" He covered the distance from the threshold to the bed in a flash, making use of his supernatural vampire speed for the first time since they'd joined the Order.

"I have no idea what’s going on," Walden said through clenched teeth. "Help me, will you?" They made her sit up, and Walden cautiously unbuttoned part of Evey’s pyjama top.

There was a large bite mark on her shoulder. As they watched, the wound receded, leaving only smooth skin under the blood. They glanced at each other, but Tony seemed as clueless as he was. Evey opened her eyes slowly. She was panting hard. "What's happening?"

"Don't know, lass. Keep still, alright? You're going to be fine." He had no idea if that was true or not, but what else could he tell her? "Let's just–" At that moment, her hands flew to her face, and she doubled over, apparently overcome with pain.

"My eyes!" Blood was spurting from beneath her fingers and for an instant, Walden sat frozen, not daring to remove her hands. It was Tony who moved forward. "No, don't! They'll fall off!" Evey cried. "Oh Merlin please help me." The last words were an almost inaudible whisper.

"V, we have to… Trust me, yeah? Let me see," Tony murmured soothingly. He took her hands away slowly.

Her eyes were closed, but apparently still there, in their appointed location. There were more scratches around them, however. Blood ran down her face and dripped from her chin onto the sheets. Once again, the wounds closed as they stared at her helplessly.

Walden swallowed audibly. "Open your eyes, V." She shook her head at first, her lips pursed in a thin line, but she complied eventually, after more gentle coercing from Tony. Her eyes looked perfectly normal. Tears were spilling down her cheeks, washing some of the blood away. "Can you see?" Walden asked her softly. She nodded hesitantly.

Walden expected another bout but, after a moment, he decided that it was over – whatever 'it' was. "Let's get you cleaned up," Tony said. He didn't wait for a reply, but instead gathered Evey in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. "Get her some fresh clothes," he told Walden.

Shaking his head to dispel the whirlwind of thoughts that suddenly assaulted his mind, Walden fetched clean pyjamas from the wardrobe and joined them in the bathroom. Tony had removed her top completely and was wiping off the blood with a wet towel, but Evey didn't seem to notice. She kept pressing her fingers lightly against her eyelids, as if to make sure that her eyes were still there. She was shivering, and probably not just from cold.

"Should we tell Black?" Tony asked him in a low voice.

Walden hesitated. "No fucking clue." He paused to consider. "I've seen some weird shit, Tony, but never anything quite like that. Hell, I can't even think of a rational explanation."

"Me neither. I mean, she looks as though Greyback came back for her, but that hardly qualifies as rational. And besides…the way she healed…" He glanced up at Walden. Transformed werewolves, as well as vampires, both regenerated rapidly – or instantly, in Tony's case – but Evey wasn't either of those things. How much had Greyback really contaminated her, when he attacked her? They hadn't discovered anything new regarding her condition since that first night in July. In any case, it didn't explain wounds that appeared out of nowhere.

"I really thought they were gone," Evey murmured, hands still on her face. She removed them slowly, reluctantly. "I don't know what happened. I was dreaming, I think – I don't remember what about – and all of a sudden I felt this sharp pain in my arm." She placed a hand on a specific spot. "Then I heard you speak, Wal, so I knew I was awake, but a second later there was more pain in my shoulder, and it kept coming." She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself, then gazed at them both in turn. "What the fuck is wrong with me? Do you think it's connected with Greyback, somehow?"

"I don't know, V," Tony said. "Look, maybe you should talk to Dumbledore. He's more likely to–"

She was already shaking her head. "No," she said firmly. She was obviously recuperating from her ordeal. Abruptly, she seemed to realise that she was half-naked and covered herself with her hands, blushing. "I can finish myself, thank you," she muttered as she grabbed the towel from Tony's hands. They retreated to the bedroom after telling her to call out if it happened again.

"Should we tell Dumbledore anyway?" Tony asked when the door was closed.

Walden sat down on his bed, rubbing at his right temple, suddenly feeling the absence of his left forearm more keenly than usual. "I don't think we should, no. She would hate us for it, and I don't know what Dumbledore can do about it, in any case."

"I don't like it, Wal. I mean, if anything happens to her, and they realise we knew there was something going on and we didn't tell them…" Tony trailed off, looking nervous.

"We do nothing for now," Walden said. "And if it happens again, we tell Sirius first, before alerting the whole Order. I can’t even imagine how Molly would react…"

Hopefully, it would never happen again. Walden didn't like the thought of Evey being hurt. He didn't like it at all.

* * *

"Bite me," Evey said the following morning.

Gaping slightly at the harsh words, Tony looked up from his magazine – some rag about celebrities he’d never heard of. Molly had left it at the Headquarters after her last visit. "Um…I beg your pardon?" He must have misheard her. Yes, he’d removed her pyjama top without her consent the previous night, but surely she couldn’t be mad at him. He’d had a perfectly valid reason – the thing had been soaked in blood. Evey’s blood. Yummy blood–

He held back a gasp as his fangs came down with an inaudible snap. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_ he scolded himself. In all his time as a vampire – admittedly, not even a year yet – he’d never enjoyed either the sight or taste of blood. But the smell of Evey’s blood…

_You idiot, stop thinking about blood! And retract your cursed fangs. Why are they even out?_

"And I thought your hearing was superior to mine…" Evey was saying with a smirk. "Will you please bite me, o Ancient One?" she repeated, enunciating each word with exaggerate care.

Oh hell. She’d noticed the fangs, hadn’t she? "I can't do that! Why would I… I don’t want to… _Why_?" he demanded, trying his best to look utterly devoid of impure thoughts.

"I want to see if it heals," Evey explained matter-of-factly.

Tony stared at her. Was she bloody mental? "V… Of course it will heal. With my saliva, it will heal right away." She had to know that, so why was she insisting?

"I'm not sure it will, actually.”

"I…" Tony glanced at the bathroom door. Walden was in the shower. He had to stall until his brother came out. Walden’s naked chest would likely provide a distraction. "Evey, if you want to experiment with your regenerative abilities, why not start with a tiny prick with a needle or something?"

"I already tried that. I also used one of your razorblades. The incisions healed like the other wounds from last night." He gaped at her, speechless. She used a _razorblade_? "Don't give me that look," she said impatiently. "I wasn't trying to cut my veins open or anything, I just had to know." She showed him her arm. "See? Nothing."

There were no marks, but she couldn't have known that _before_ butchering herself. She was out of control. Tony was about to tell her that she should take it easy when Walden finally came out of the bathroom. He was shirtless, as usual. He only bothered when he knew that Molly was coming. They were lucky he even wore pants. Although, admittedly, Evey didn't appear to mind, far from it. She grinned at his brother, an appreciative gleam in her eyes. Walden, being Walden, was completely oblivious to it. "Wal, please ask the vampire to bite me."

Walden cocked his head slightly. At first he looked as though he was wondering if he'd heard correctly, but a moment later he was nodding thoughtfully. "Good idea," he said, turning to Tony. "Bite her."

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Tony shouted.

"It makes sense," his brother said quietly. "Werewolves regenerate rapidly, _unless_ they're bitten by a vampire. I should have thought of that before."

"Bloody hell, she’s _not_ a werewolf! And what if it doesn't heal properly? Molly will cut me to pieces if she sees puncture marks on her!"

"Tony, I'm not asking you to tear my neck open," Evey said with clear exasperation. "You can do it on my wrist. I always wear bracelets anyway. No one will notice."

He gazed at them both in turn. Damn, they were being serious. Merlin's warty buttocks! "You're crazy," he whispered. “Both of you.”

"Obviously," Evey replied with a grin. She was already removing her jewellery. "Here," she said when she was done, presenting him with her left wrist.

Tony groaned softly. Considering the reaction the mere thought of her blood had caused earlier, he truly wasn’t keen on actually tasting it. If he went mad with sudden bloodlust, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. "If Molly finds out…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Evey exclaimed. "You're _undead_ , Tony. Get a grip. What is she going to do, force you to wash the dishes for eternity?" she said with a sneer.

"You're underestimating her, very much so," Tony mumbled.

Sighing in defeat, he took Evey’s wrist. He gave her one last questioning glance, but she simply nodded. His fangs came out sharply, without him having to even think about it. Bracing himself, Tony sank his teeth into her flesh, as gently as he could. He heard her gasp softly. The saliva wasn't working as it should, he could tell right away. She shouldn't have felt the prick at all. He moved away as soon as he tasted her blood.

It tasted incredible. It was nothing like Walden's, which simply tasted like…well, blood. Evey's was a subtle blend of dark rum, coffee and… Tony shook his head. His mind must be playing tricks on him. Besides, the taste of her blood should be the last thing on his mind at the moment.

The three of them stared at the tiny incision for a minute. Tony tried to will it to disappear, but it remained stubbornly in place. "Shit," he grumbled eventually. "I told you it was a bad idea."

Walden took Evey’s wrist delicately and studied it for a long moment. The fine hair on her arm exploded in goosebumps, but Walden didn't appear to notice. "Yep, looks like you're officially part werewolf, kid."


	15. Curiouser and curiouser

_Part werewolf_. That was an expression Walden had never dreamed of using to describe a woman.

"What does it mean, concretely?" Evey asked him.

"I don't know exactly. You've never turned into a werewolf, and you don't feel the urge to howl at the moon, as far as I know, so you're not a true werewolf, but you've developed certain…traits, apparently. You eat more bacon than Sirius and me together, and I've seen you eat bits of it raw, when you're cooking." She blushed slightly at that. "But it still doesn't explain the wounds from last night." It didn't explain much of anything, actually, but that thought wasn't particularly helpful. Evey was a puzzle, and that was the only thing Walden knew for certain.

"Well, that's progress. You know, when this is all over and we're allowed out into the world, maybe we should write a paper about it," she said jokingly. "We'd be famous."

"I thought you didn't want to be famous," he said. Otherwise why would she refuse to let anyone else know?

"I don't want people to think I'm a freak," she corrected him. "Not the same thing."

"You're not a freak," he murmured. "You're just something new, and people always fear what they don't know, what they don't understand. You're a miracle, is what you are." Her blush intensified, for some reason. He was merely speaking the truth.

"That's all well and good, but shouldn't we at least  _try_  to heal the wound?" Tony asked nervously, though the puncture marks were shallow and very little blood had been shed. It didn't seem to be infected in any way – werewolves were known to have severe reactions to vampire saliva when they came in contact with it, and vice versa. It was rarely fatal, but it happened, occasionally.

"I doubt it'll work," Walden said, but he wanted to see what would occur. He picked up his wand. " _Vulnera sanentur_." As expected, nothing happened.

"So, what, it'll just stay like that forever?" Tony’s face was even paler than usual.

"Not necessarily," Walden answered. "Maybe it will heal the regular way. It's hard to tell."

"Bloody great," Tony muttered.

Evey patted him on the back. "Don't worry, I'll live. And thank you," she added softly. "I know you dislike biting people, but I just had to know."

"I  _hate_  biting people," he said fiercely. "I mean, if the Ancients are so amazing, why can't they feed off animals, like regular vampires? Such a stupid rule," he grumbled.

"It's not a rule, it's a fact. Animal blood won't quench your thirst," Walden said.

"I _know_ that," Tony said through clenched teeth. "I just wish I didn't have to feed off  _you_. Who knows what it's doing to you, what might happen in the long run?"

Walden shrugged. "It won't turn me into a vampire, if that's what you're afraid of. It doesn't work like that. It's only once a week, anyway," he said dismissively. According to Jeanne, Tony didn't need to feed that often – once a month was more than enough – but Walden felt more at ease knowing that his brother was properly fed. Hungry vampires were quite frightening, and Tony was not a mundane vampire. Of course, he still had to drink animal blood to keep up appearances; the others didn't know that he was anything more than a normal bloodsucker.

Tony mumbled something inaudible. "What do we do now?" he asked more intelligibly.

"We wait. There's nothing else we can do," Walden replied quietly.

* * *

Evey woke up feeling incredibly energised, as was usual nowadays. Walden was still asleep, and Tony wasn't in the room. She made her way to the bathroom noiselessly. When she was done washing up, she removed the bandage that covered her wrist.

The lesion was gone. It hadn't even left a scar. That should make Tony happy. He'd kept repeating that she should make sure the bandage wasn't obvious, so that Sirius and Mrs Weasley would have no cause to ask what had happened.

When Evey opened the door, she saw that Walden was awake, although he was still in bed. His dark hair was getting a bit long, and it was thoroughly mussed. Tony claimed that his brother twisted and turned a lot in his sleep, unlike Evey, who always slept like a stone. Walden turned his head toward her, scratching at his beard. "Did you check the puncture mark?"

She nodded. "It's gone." She sat down beside him and showed off her wrist. "Smooth as a baby's bottom." Walden delicately traced the spot where the wound had been, and Evey had to hold back a shiver.

"You get weirder by the day," he said teasingly.

"Oi!" she protested with mock indignation. "What happened to me being a miracle?"

"Well, you're a weird miracle," he said with a grin. He didn't smile very often, but when he did…  _Damn, he's so beautiful_ , Evey thought longingly. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks and stood up hastily to hide her face from him. She pretended to get something from the wardrobe to cover the whole thing.

"Evey?" Walden asked from behind her a moment later. There was something odd in his tone.

She turned with a frown. "What?"

He was staring at her, eyes wide. What was wrong with him? He didn't answer right away. "You're…um… V, you're invisible," he said eventually.

She looked down at herself...and saw nothing except the wooden floor. "Holy cow," she whispered, shocked and awed at the same time.

"I take back what I said," Walden said. "You get weirder by the fucking  _minute_."

Evey grinned at him, then realised that he couldn't see it. Uh. This was great and all, but how did she return to her visible self? How had she even turned invisible in the first place? She had simply wished for it, as far as she could remember, anxious as she was to conceal her blush. She tried to focus on being visible and was relieved to see her arms reappear.

"Ah, there you are," Walden said with a smile.

"Do you think it has something to do with the fact that Tony bit me? I mean, that's probably the case, isn't it?" That was the only possible explanation, as far as she could think.

"Very likely," Walden agreed. He whistled through his teeth. "Do you have any idea what that means?"

"That I'm an Ancient?" No, she couldn't be. Could she?

"I don't know about that, but don't you see, V? You've got both werewolf and vampire traits. That's…well, I don't like to use the word 'impossible' in regard to you anymore, but you get the idea," he said with a trace of reverence in his voice. "It's amazing. It's crazy. I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head.

Tony opened the door at that moment and frowned at them when he saw the look on their faces. "What's going on?" He turned to Evey. “Are you alright?” She showed him her wrist, and he blinked. "It's gone," he said blankly.

"You have very keen eyes, master vampire," Evey said with a smirk. "But that's not the best part," she added brightly. Concentrating, she prayed that it wasn't a one-time occurrence and willed herself invisible.

Going by Tony’s stare of astonishment, it worked. "How…? What did you…? No fucking way!" he exclaimed eventually.

Evey reappeared and grinned at him. "This is bloody brilliant. I love it. Thank you so much."

"I didn't…” He trailed off, passing a hand through his hair. “Damn, V. What the hell  _are_  you?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't have to keep doing strange experiments. Tony, does it mean that I'm an Ancient?" she asked him eagerly.

"I don't…think so?" He paused, considering. "You don’t have fangs, do you?"

Evey felt at her teeth. "Nope. But yours only appear when you want them to, right?" She tried to will her teeth to grow, but nothing happened. This was mildly disappointing. Fangs were cool. Well, Evey had always had a thing for vampires. They were quite fascinating.

"I think fangs are a basic requirement for being a vampire, so we can rule that out. Unless…um, do you have a sudden craving for blood?"

Evey shook her head. "Negative. I crave bacon, though. Gods, I'm starving." Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

Tony looked around the room and pointed at a glass of water on Walden's bedside table. "Drink that," he commanded.

Evey raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he simply gestured for her to proceed. She drank some of the water, and they both studied her for a good minute in silence. "What’s supposed to happen? It's not holy water, you know," she pointed out.

Tony snorted. "That wouldn't change anything. Religious paraphernalia has no effect on us. That's just balderdash they made up to taunt Muggles. But that wasn't what I wanted to see. If  _I_  drink water, I get sick. It's the same with any food and drink, actually. I get cramps and start puking blood and… Well, you get the idea. It's quite messy." Walden nodded, as though he’d witnessed said mess.

Evey felt herself blanch. Merlin, if she'd been forced to give up food… What kind of life would that be? "That's terrible," she said earnestly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know." She’d assumed that Tony didn't eat because he had no taste for regular food.

"Tell me about it," he concurred glumly. "Anyway. I think we can all agree that you're not a full vampire. I don't see how that would be possible, in any case. You're alive, for one thing, and you're already partly a werewolf." He trailed off as if he’d suddenly realised something. "Wait. That means you're a werewolf and vampire hybrid! How is that even poss…? Oh no, that's right. We're not using _that_ word anymore."

They were all silent for a moment. "Maybe I should ask Jeanne what she thinks about it?" Tony ventured eventually.

"And how are you going to contact her? She can't come here, the place is protected. And you can't get out," Walden said.

"Actually, she could come. She was at your house, remember?"

Walden frowned slightly. "Right. I just assumed… Um, I don't know. Never gave it proper thought."

"Wait a second,” Evey cut in. “Vampires can see places that are protected by a Fidelius Charm?"

"Only Ancients, as far as I know,” Tony said. “If all vampires could, we would know about it, I suppose."

"But that's… That means they could barge in here at any moment?"

"Well, no, that's the thing. They could see the house, sure, but they couldn't get in without being formally invited in. By Sirius. Although…" Tony paused, looking thoughtful. "Yeah, perhaps some of us could get in, those with the mind control ability."

Evey stared at him. "Mind control? Ancients can do that, too? Can  _you_  control minds?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I got the invisibility thing. Ancients possess…extra abilities, but we only get one each, you see. It depends on your maker," he explained. "Although the Bloodmother has all of them, of course.”

"What are the other abilities?" Evey asked with unfeigned curiosity.

"There are four in total. The other two are shape shifting and flying. Shape shifters can only take animal forms. Non-magical animals. Again, excepting the Mother. She can turn into other people, too, I think. The mind control works on people and animals both, but not on us."

"That's so cool!" Evey exclaimed. How had she not known this before? "You really need to tell me who the others are," she said almost pleadingly. She had asked about a thousand times already, but Tony claimed that it would be a breach in secrecy. A worse one than he'd already committed, anyway. Apparently, he shouldn't even use his maker's name, but her nickname instead. He kept forgetting, though.

Evey was met with refusal once again. "Sorry, kid. I really can't tell you," Tony said ruefully.

What was worse, she could tell that he was dying to spill it all out. She supposed she had to consider herself lucky that she knew as much as she did. "Right. Never mind. Can people resist the mind control? Like the Imperius Curse?"

"The Ripper says that it’s was pretty efficient. She's never met anyone who could resist it."

"The Ripper?" Evey repeated. "I've never heard of that one. Is she a new one?"

Tony shrugged. "No, she's not new, but she was the last one to be turned before me."

"So she's… We're not talking about  _Jack_  the Ripper, are we? I mean, surely, Jack couldn’t have been a woman-"

"V, I  _cannot_  tell you," Tony said with some frustration. "My, but you're persistent."

"You only notice that now?" Walden remarked with an arched eyebrow. Evey narrowed her eyes at him, which only made him grin.  _Damn, he has to stop doing that_ , she thought as she felt her cheeks heat up slightly. She couldn’t just keep turning invisible to hide her blushes from him, could she?

Tony cleared his throat. Evey was almost certain that he _knew_ that she had a massive crush on his brother. She would never dare ask him directly, but she hoped that he wouldn’t mention it to Walden. That would be beyond embarrassing. "Anyway, back to the initial topic,” Tony said. “What happens now?"

"Nothing," Walden replied with a shrug. "Our Evey’s got new superpowers, but we don't know much more than we did before."

_Our Evey._ Damn, he really wasn’t making it any easier for her, was he? Thankfully, a thought hit her, temporarily distracting her from Walden. "Hang on a second," she told Tony. "Let’s rewind to the part where you can work your way around the Fidelius Charm. Doesn’t that mean that you could sneak into Voldemort’s hiding place, if we could locate it?" she said conversationally.

It was Walden who answered. "I doubt it. He has other methods of concealing his various lairs. Much darker methods." Well, it had been worth asking. It would have been nice, if all it took to end the war was to send Tony into Voldemort’s bedroom to kill him in his sleep. Provided that the dark wizard ever slept, of course.

As they got ready for a new day of doing absolutely nothing, Evey couldn't help but wonder. Could she truly be an amalgam of werewolf and vampire? It was so confusing, disturbing even, though she had to admit that the invisibility ability was pretty neat. What would happen if one of the other Ancients bit her? Would she…absorb their powers, too?

Evey stood daydreaming about the possibility for a long time, until Tony jokingly said that her brain must have been affected after all. Well, for all they knew, it had been.


	16. I see dead people

Evey knocked softly on the door that led to the discarded living room, where Tony had unofficially established his workshop. She had no idea what he did in here, exactly, but he had to keep busy at night, somehow. He called for her to come in, and she pushed the door open.

For once Tony didn’t greet her with a smile. He looked...focused, utterly absorbed in his project. Evey examined the encumbered table, but there were only bits and scraps of various materials, as far as she could make out.

“Can’t sleep?” Tony asked without looking up from his tinkering.

“Well, it’s been a weird couple of days,” Evey said wryly. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Tony snorted. “You and me both, kid.”

Evey rolled her eyes, but she made no remark as she stepped forward and sat down beside him on the couch. “What are you working on?” He didn’t reply for a minute, and Evey wondered if he’d even heard her. She studied him. It was so unusual to see him frown so seriously, even in concentration. “Tony?”

He exhaled sharply, discarding the twisted piece of wood he’d been casting non-verbal spells at. “It’s nothing important.”

Evey waited for more, but he didn’t even look at her. She got the message. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll leave you to it.” She stood up, dusting off her pyjama bottoms.

Only then did Tony appear to fully notice her. “No, don’t. Sorry, V, it’s just...a vague project I’ve been working on. A prototype. Except it’s not going well at all, it’s frustrating, and it’s therefore not worth talking about, I assure you.”

“Tony,” Evey began, biting her lower lip, “are you mad at me?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “What? Of course not. Why would I be?”

“I made you bite me against your will.”

“Yeah, that was...” He waved the thought aside. “It’s fine. I’m not mad, V, I’m just... It’s all so bloody _weird_ , you know?”

Evey scoffed. “No kidding.”

“Yeah, I suppose it’s even worse for you,” he said abashedly. “I mean, after I was turned, I thought I’d never see or experience anything more bizarre in my life, but...” He trailed off with a shrug.

“What was it like, becoming a vampire?” She wasn’t sure if he’d want to discuss it, but she was curious.

“At first I thought I was dead. Truly dead, I mean,” he said with a dry laugh. “Waking up in a bright room, surrounded by these eerily flawless people... It felt like a bad trip on acid.” Evey arched an eyebrow, and he grinned coyly. “I like to try everything at least one. Otherwise how am I supposed to know what I like and what I don’t like?” he asked innocently. “Anyway. There I was, amidst these gorgeous freaks, staring me down, examining me, _judging_ me...”

“They didn’t approve of you becoming an Ancient?” Evey asked in surprise. “I thought you were the first wizard to join them. I figured they’d be thrilled about your uniqueness.”

“Yeah, well, most of them are like grumpy old people, you know. They don’t like change. I was a novelty and, as Walden pointed out earlier, not everyone feels comfortable around what they don't know.”

“But they still...accepted you, right? I mean, Jeanne had to ask permission to turn you, and it was granted.”

“The Bloodmother overruled the initial vote,” he explained, “which was not favourable to turning me.”

Evey felt a shiver of excitation. How much was he going to reveal? “Why did she do that?”

“No idea. I only saw her once, that first day, and she didn’t even speak to me.”

“What is she like?” The Bloodmother was – according to the legends, because Tony had starkly refused to say anything about her – the oldest vampire alive. She was rumoured to be thousands of years old. Some of the myths went as far as to claim that she was the first vampire, the Original One. For all Evey knew, she was as old as mankind itself.

Tony chuckled. “I see what you’re doing here. I won’t tell you anything more than I already have, V. I will already be in so much trouble if Jeanne finds out that I’ve outed her to a non-initiate, I really can’t afford to make things even worse.”

“But...I _am_ an initiate, aren’t I? I mean, how many mortals can claim to be able to turn invisible at will?”

Tony studied her very seriously, which made her feel a bit uncomfortable. “I don’t think you understand,” he said quietly. “There are fourteen Ancients, V. Do you know how many people were aware of our existence before I let you and Walden know?”

Evey shook her head mutely, though she had an idea of what the answer was.

“Fourteen, yeah,” Tony said. “To be fair, Jeanne was granted official permission to let Walden in on our little secret, though I’m still not sure why.” He paused, considering. “Knowing her, it might simply have been because she fancies him.”

Evey made no reply, but she felt her shoulders tense. Tony grinned suddenly. “Just kidding. I’m pretty sure that she’s the Bloodmother’s favourite, so she can do whatever she wants if she asks nicely. And she doesn’t get along with a bunch of the others, so this was her chance to show off to them. She does love drama, Jeanne does.”

Evey had a hundred questions, but she kept the most important one – Did Walden fancy Jeanne? – to herself. Instead she asked, “But don’t they have...partners? Spouses? People they care about and trust enough to share their secret?”

“Some of them have...close friends, but it’s not a matter of trust. It’s forbidden, plain and simple, to let anyone know that we exist, and as far as I know no one has ever breached secrecy – except me, with you. No matter how special you are, V, I doubt that they will be forgiving if they ever find out.” He cleared his throat. “Pretending to be a regular vampire, as I’m doing here, is acceptable, but that’s the extent of it.”

“That’s...a bit sad, really,” Evey said.

Tony nodded. “They’re a paranoid lot. I don’t understand why, though. If we wanted, we could overtake the world in less than a week. It’s not like people would be able to stop us, or foolish enough to even try, if they knew that we existed. A witch hunt against Ancients would only lead to humankind’s extinction.”

“They wouldn’t want to kill you, perhaps, but they would want to _become_ you,” Evey pointed out.

Tony blinked, as though he’d never considered the possibility. Evey laughed wryly. “Tony, you’re immortal and indestructible. Don’t you see why some people might want that? People like, I don’t know, Voldemort?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” he mumbled.

Did he truly not understand the appeal? Sure, there were a few minor downsides, but weighed against immortality, eternal youth, power beyond measure, not to mention one very special ability... Hell, people would happily _kill_ for this. Voldemort would burn the world to the ground if it meant becoming one of them – it was everything he’d ever wanted. If he ever learned of their existence... Complete secrecy certainly seemed like a reasonable decision, from Evey’s point of view.

She held back a yawn. Now that she was satisfied that Tony wasn’t mad at her – she hadn’t realised that it was what had kept her awake until she’d relaxed when he’d laughed it off – she was feeling quite sleepy. Tony smiled and mussed up her hair in a brotherly fashion, though it hardly made any difference. Her hair was always a mess. “To bed with you, young lady.”

Evey sighed ruefully. At least he hadn’t called her ‘kid’ this time.

* * *

_Seven months ago_

Tony was reclining on a mattress, which was neither too hard nor too soft. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but that was probably because his whole body was...numb. His head felt like it’d been stuffed with wool. He couldn't sense his own heartbeat; he didn't even seem to be breathing. It felt like sleep paralysis. Like being in a coma.

Oh, Merlin. Not that. Someone ought to kill him already. This impression of being stuck in limbo was even worse than Azkaban – at least in prison you were constantly reminded that you were alive, through pain or hunger or thirst.

“Open your eyes, fledgling,” an ethereal voice murmured.

Tony attempted to comply, but his eyelids refused to cooperate. There were inaudible whispers around him, and abruptly liquid was trickling down his throat. “Drink, child. Drink it all," another voice said invitingly. Tony swallowed, purely by reflex. The liquid tasted...wrong, but it sent a shock of energy through his body, and he convulsed briefly.

His eyes flew open.

Five people were gathered around him – two on each side, one at the foot of his bed. The room was a brilliant, nearly blinding white, and the people... They looked unreal. Alien. Too beautiful to be true.

Bloody hell. He was dead, wasn’t he?

A youthful woman, closest to him on his right, murmured something in a foreign language. Her pale face was delicate and unblemished, her long, fiery hair gleaming in the ambient light. The woman beside her was equally young, Tony estimated, and just as pretty, though she wasn’t as perfect as he’d initially assumed: she was missing an eye. It only made her more striking, though.

She leaned forward, and Tony felt a small, cool hand partially cover his. “Look at him,” she crooned. She had a heavy French accent, Tony noted. “So handsome. He is _perfect_.” Her dazzling smile was contagious, and Tony felt himself returning it, though the words themselves were somewhat disturbing.

“Jeanne,” the flame-haired woman said with a light chuckle, “do you even hear yourself?” Her tone was gentle, affectionate. She had a faint Irish accent.

“You were no better when our Jeanne was reborn, Alice,” the only man present, who stood furthest from Tony on his left, said in a deep voice. He was tall and solidly built, with a shaved head.

“And _you_ ,” the woman at the man's side said teasingly, “were even worse than both of them combined.” She was petite, with medium-long, wavy dark hair and twinkling brown eyes.

The man laughed richly. “True, though I bear no shame.”

“Nor should you,” his companion said, placing a delicate hand on his massive shoulder.

Tony had no idea what was going on, and they seemed more inclined to have a private discussion right over his head than to explain what had happened to him. Sitting up in bed as best he could, Tony looked at the last person in the room, the woman at the foot of the bed. She didn’t seem interested in participating in her friends’ amiable banter.

She was...different from the rest of them. She didn’t look old, and yet she didn’t appear as young as the others. Her dark-skinned face had an ageless quality to it. Her thick raven hair was fashioned into an intricate braid, and her crimson lace dress clung to her curvy figure.

She was beautiful, in an intimidating way. She radiated power and authority. Her dark brown eyes were soulful and fully intent on Antonin’s. She seemed to be weighing him, measuring him, as though she was trying to determine whether Tony was worthy of her attention.

“Don’t stare, fledgling,” the French woman, Jeanne, scolded him gently. “It’s rude.”

Tony blinked, as if coming out of a trance, then looked at Jeanne, frowning. “What...? I mean, where am I? Who are you?”

She patted his hand reassuringly, smiling. “You are safe here. You are alive, my child. Gloriously alive.” Her single eye shone brightly.

That didn’t answer any of his questions. He tried again. “Who _are_ you?”

Her smile widened into a toothy grin – very toothy indeed. Tony gulped down some air reflexively. “Vampire,” he whispered.

Alice brushed away a stray strand of hair from his face – not a romantic gesture, Tony thought; it was almost...motherly. “We are so much more than that,” she said softly.

A door banged open in the background, and Tony nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound. Everyone around him turned to glare at the intruder.

 _Intruders_ , in fact, Tony realised as he twisted his head to get a better look.

“Cat? What in the blazes...?” Alice demanded, hands on her hips. She directed a stern look at the other two newcomers in turn. “Pat, Liz, what do you think you’re doing?”

Tony studied the three young ladies who’d so rudely interrupted...whatever this was. The first one, who stood before the other two, was rather tall, with voluminous red hair, and she was pouting like a spoiled brat who hadn’t received the pony she wanted for her birthday. The woman on her left was nearly as tall, but she was willowy where the other was stockier. She had high cheekbones and a remarkable nose. The last one was of average height and slender, with dark brown hair. She was glaring daggers at everyone who stood near the bed – and at _him_. Tony shuddered at the naked loathing in her gaze.

“I was going to ask you that same question,” the woman called Cat retorted. “We took a vote! What’s the magic boy doing here?”

Tony stared at her. Boy? Seriously? He had to be at least twice her age!

Jeanne actually hissed at the woman, like a pissed-off alley cat. “He’s mine! Back off!”

The imposing man raised his hands in a peace-entreating gesture. “Everyone calm down, please. There’s no need for this.” He addressed the intruders. “The Mother has decided to overrule the vote, my dear ladies.” He nodded toward the mysterious ageless woman. “This turning was done in complete legality, and formally approved.”

“But Mother!” the glaring girl cried out plaintively. “He is _nothing_. He is _no one_.”

Ouch. Not very nice, but true enough, Tony had to admit, though he had no idea why that was relevant.

“The Mother has spoken, Liz,” Alice said woodenly. “Do you dare question her decision?”

There was no audible reply, as far as Tony could make out. The three nuisances slowly exited the room, obviously defeated.

The pretty, kindly woman who stood beside the man smiled at Antonin, her dark eyes gleaming with humour. “Welcome to the family, Wizard.”


	17. All I want for Christmas is you

Evey had wanted to get presents for Walden and Antonin for Christmas and was therefore disappointed when Sirius pointed out that they couldn't very well go Christmas shopping like everyone else. To her immense relief, however, Tonks had offered to get her what she needed. The young Auror did not come by the Grimmauld Place very often, but Evey enjoyed spending time with her when she did. Tonks had assured her that all of her expenses were covered by the Order – they had set up a special fund for orphans during the First War, which had been replenished after Voldemort’s return.

Evey got Tony a hairdryer, more as a joke than as an actual present – he was incredibly vain about his hair – but he was delighted.

She wanted Walden to have something to help with his missing arm, but that wasn't something you could find at the local mall, nor even in Diagon Alley; he would need to have a proper magical prosthesis fitted, once they got out of here. In the meantime, Evey requested that Tonks purchase a book for him: _The Ancients: Myth or Reality?_ They’d been animatedly discussing the identities of the Ancients, ever since Tony had revealed their existence to Evey. She was convinced that, together, with the book and Tony’s occasional slips, they could puzzle out who the others were, without Tony having to commit any more breach in secrecy that would get him in trouble with his maker.

They were surprised by the presents, and they didn't have anything for her, but Evey didn't mind. It was a genuine pleasure for her to go hunting for _the_ perfect present for everyone at Christmas; the only thing that bothered her was that she’d had to recruit Tonks, a very busy Auror, for such a menial task, though Tonks had assured her that she didn’t mind. She was always glad for a break.

Evey also found something for Sirius, a Polaroid camera that he could use to capture moments with Harry, and a photo album. It wasn't much, but he thanked her warmly and she felt some of the gloom that followed him around disperse somewhat.

She had expected to spend the holidays with just the three of them, without frivolities, but things turned out quite differently.

She heard about the attack perpetrated against Mr Weasley almost as soon as it happened, because she was down in the kitchen with Walden and Antonin when Phineas Nigellus warned Sirius. The Weasley siblings came back in a rush to Grimmauld Place moments later, accompanied by Harry. Mrs Weasley appeared some time later and took her family – and Harry; but wasn't he part of the Weasley family, in a way? – to St Mungo, to visit Arthur.

Everything quickly returned to its initial state at the Headquarters after that. Walden and Tony were once more confined in their room, and Evey with them, although of her own volition. She greeted George and the others warmly, of course, but that was the extent of her meddling with them. In any case, they certainly had other things on their minds at the moment.

On Christmas Day, however, Mrs Weasley insisted that everyone - Walden and Tony included - should gather for lunch, before they departed for St Mungo to visit Mr Weasley again. Thankfully, he was out of danger and recovering already.

Evey walked into the dining room a little early – Tony was still working on his hair, and Walden preferred to wait for him; neither of them were in a hurry to be confronted with a horde of mildly hostile Weasleys – and she took the opportunity to talk with Professor Lupin, who would escort the Weasleys to St Mungo later. She didn't mention her current situation, but she tried to pass several questions as pure curiosity, and it seemed to go unnoticed. During her time at Hogwarts, she had been known for asking odd, sometimes completely off-topic questions. Professor Lupin, as well as Professor Kettleburn and her replacement, Professor Hagrid, must remember her better than most teachers. Her thirst for knowledge in the fields of Care of Magical Creatures and Defence against the Dark Arts was infinite.

Unfortunately, what she learned was of little help. She enquired about Greyback, and was surprised to learn that the bloody werewolf was responsible for turning Professor Lupin – Remus, he insisted; he wasn't her professor any longer. He didn't know where Greyback was, however, or anything even remotely useful about the older werewolf. Apparently, nobody knew exactly who he was, or where he came from. His past, before he'd first appeared in England about thirty years ago, was shrouded in mystery. They were interrupted shortly afterward by Sirius, who wanted to take a picture with Remus and Harry together. Smiling at Sirius’s enthusiasm, Evey snapped the picture herself.

Tony and Walden finally arrived a few minutes later. Everyone gave them a wide berth, except for Sirius, who was used to them by now, but Harry's godfather was too busy enjoying himself to pay them any attention. Well, he should make the most of Harry's presence while he could; the kids would only be here for three weeks.

Evey noticed that Walden hadn't buttoned up his shirt properly – he'd missed a button – so she turned toward him and redid the buttons in order. He frowned at her when she started, then realised what she was doing and sighed softly. "I told you, lass, not in public."

She gave him a wicked grin. "I wouldn't have to, if you learned how to dress, you barbarian."

He smiled back, looking almost apologetic. Well, it wasn't his fault if he had only one arm. Oh, wait, it was, actually. Foolish man.

When she was done, she looked up at him. He was gazing down at her, patiently waiting for her to finish. "Thanks," he said quietly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and she thought maybe this was it, maybe he was going to–

"Finally!" Tony exclaimed, materialising at her side. He hadn't been invisible; Evey simply hadn't noticed him. "I was beginning to think you'd never get around to it."

Walden turned to scowl at him, obviously confused, and Evey gave serious thought to strangling him, even though it would achieve nothing, considering that he didn’t breathe. She glared at him instead, and he grinned. "Well, don't let me keep you. Kiss her already," he told his brother, punching his shoulder lightly. With that, he walked away to give them a semblance of privacy, Evey assumed.

Praying to all the gods that she wouldn't blush, she regarded Walden steadily and raised an eyebrow in expectation. If that wasn't clear enough, she didn't know what else to do. He was too fucking tall; if she wanted to kiss him herself, she would have to half-climb on him first. She held back hysterical giggles at the thought.

He was still frowning. "What?" he asked, looking as clueless as before.

Oh well. "Nothing," she said with a defeated sigh. She patted his right arm before taking a seat at the table.

* * *

Tony caught his brother's eyes as Evey settled down at the table. ' _What the hell?'_ He tried to convey the message as discreetly as he could, mouthing the words with exaggerate care, but saw that one of the twins was eyeing him suspiciously. He made his way to Walden. "What the hell?" he repeated out loud, gesturing wildly with his arms.

"What?" Walden said. "You were kidding, right? You were both kidding."

"Merlin's hairy mole, Walden! Are you blind?" he asked incredulously, passing a hand through his hair. He realised too late that he shouldn't have done that and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

" _I'm_ not blind," Walden retorted. "Is she?" he went on, indicating his missing arm.

Tony snorted. "Oh please. She couldn't care less about that."

"I bloody well care," Walden said angrily before stalking away, crossing the hall and barricading himself in the living room. Tony felt a moment of panic, but he doubted that Walden would puzzle out what Tony was attempting to craft in there, especially given his current mood.

He considered going after his brother, but eventually decided that he'd better talk to Evey instead. Walden would come back when he'd had time to calm down and think. It wouldn't do to press him.

"Hey," he said as he sat down beside Evey. He gave her a bright, apologetic smile. He hoped that it wasn't his interruption that had caused the kiss _not_ to happen.

"Hey," she replied distractedly. "Please tell me he took it as a joke."

"Nope, he didn't. Especially after I scolded him."

“Ugh.” She hid her face in her hands for a moment. "I only have myself to blame, I suppose," she murmured. "I should have said something earlier. Or never," she said bitterly.

"Earlier, I'd say." Much earlier, and preferably in a quieter, more private setting. Like…the room they’d been sharing for over five months, perhaps? Tony had never understood why people pondered over their actions and second-guessed themselves so much, so often. How did they get anything done? "Although I don't think it's a matter of timing,” he added. “You've got to put yourself in his shoes, V. To him, you're just a kid."

She turned to glare at him, her fists clenching on the table. "I swear, if you call me that one more time…" She trailed off, looking annoyed. "Do I _look_ like a fucking kid?" _You certainly don't_ , Tony thought ruefully. She looked like a very pretty young woman. Walden didn’t realise how lucky he was that she’d fallen for him instead of…anyone else. "Do I _sound_ like a kid? Merlin, Tony, I'm more mature than you are."

"I can't argue with that." She was. Then again, most everyone was. "But–"

"You're basically telling me that, because I'm young, I'm doomed to date only boys, not men." She didn't leave him time to respond. "It's not just a silly crush, damn you. I…" She hesitated. "Never mind," she went on with a shake of her head. She sighed heavily, and perhaps a bit over-dramatically. "I guess I'll have to settle for you, after all."

If his heart could beat, it would be pounding, even though he knew that she was only teasing. "Finally! Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for you to say that?" he said with a grin that he hoped appeared genuine enough. He was rewarded by a small smile. "Do you want me to talk to him?" he asked her more seriously.

"No, I will talk to him myself. After lunch," she added with a meaningful glance at the people surrounding them.

Tony nodded in approval. Better late than never. "Alright. Let me know if you need me. I'll go see if Molly needs any help in the kitchen. And if she'll accept it from me," he said grimly. He stood up and left Evey to her thoughts.

* * *

Walden made his way back to the dining room hesitantly. He would like nothing more than to settle in his bed and read Evey’s unexpected present, but he couldn't leave things as they were.

He had no idea what had just happened. Had Evey sent him any…signals? He could differentiate various emotions in the magical creatures he dealt with, but when it came to reading people, he was as good as blind, Tony was right about that. But even if she had… What was _wrong_ with her? What could she possibly see in him? He was a reclusive, one-armed Death Eater. Former Death Eater, admittedly, but still.

He was not fit to be with her – or anyone else, for that matter. He never had been. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even been with a woman. His job left him little time for that sort of things, and he tended to avoid women in any case. Women were trouble.

And Evey was so bloody young! Merlin, she could be his _daughter_.

Then again, it was quite possible that Tony was just messing with him and had involved Evey in the prank. He wouldn't put it past his brother. He was almost hoping that that was the case.

He walked up to her slowly, still unsure what to say, and sat down beside her. He glanced around, to make sure that no one could hear them, and took a deep breath. " _Did_ you want me to kiss you?" he asked her bluntly.

She didn't turn to face him. "I see that Tony's not the only Legilimens in the family," she said wryly.

Alright, she was clearly pissed off. Even he could tell as much. Did she have to be like that, though? He hadn't asked for this. He tried to come up with something clever to say, and failed.

"Yes, Walden, I did want you to kiss me," she stated flatly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I still do, in fact." She turned her head and settled her eyes on his. Merlin, she was being serious.

She seemed to be expecting some sort of answer. Walden cleared his throat. "V, I… We can't..."

"If you're going to enumerate the reasons why you think it's a terrible idea, don't bother. I don't want to hear it," she said, annoyed. She swung her gaze back to the table.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. He had to tell her why it was a bad idea, tell her that she could do a lot better than him, that she _deserved_ better, whether she wanted to hear it or not. Then he realised that he didn't _want_ to do that, so instead he said, "I wasn't kidding before."

Evey frowned, eyeing him sideways. "About what?"

"About not doing that sort of things in public," he said quietly.

Evey didn't reply, and the silence stretched for so long that Walden began to think that she was holding back laughter, that it was a joke after all.

She stood up abruptly. "I forgot something upstairs," she announced to no one in particular. She walked away swiftly, without looking back.

From the other side of the room, Tony gave him a thumbs-up, then made a shooing motion in his direction. Of course, he’d heard everything.

Nobody seemed to be paying Walden any attention so, after counting slowly to ten, he followed Evey upstairs.

* * *

Remus frowned at Macnair as he made his way after Evey, hoping that he was misinterpreting the situation - the hushed argument between them, Dolohov's smug grin. It was hardly his business, but Evey had been his student, and she was vulnerable, after what had befallen her family in July. If Macnair was taking advantage of her… Well, in all fairness, vulnerable or not, Evey looked like she could take care of herself. He _knew_ she could take care of herself. She had been one of his best students, and certainly the most enthusiastic about the Defence against the Dark Arts class – at least in her year. Then again, according to his former colleagues, she'd been enthusiastic about all of her classes – including History of Magic; Cuthbert Binns had been more surprised about it than anyone else.

Remus hadn't seen Evey since he had been forced to resign from Hogwarts, a year and a half ago, and there was something decidedly odd about her, something he'd never noticed before. A werewolf's senses were only enhanced during the full moon, when they transformed into the cursed beast, but Remus had always found that to be only partially true, for him at least. He couldn’t see in the dark or anything quite so fancy, not in human form, but he did have an acute sense of smell. There was something about Evey’s scent... He couldn't tell exactly what it was, or what it reminded him of, and the more he thought about it, the more it eluded him. It would probably come back to him when he least expected it, as these things usually did.


	18. Perfect, a pure paragon

They lay in bed for some time afterward. Walden hoped that Tony would come up with a reasonable explanation for their sudden disappearance, though he doubted that anyone would really care. Everyone was excited about Christmas and eager to visit Arthur in the afternoon; they had more important things on their minds.

Walden lay on his back, and Evey, beside him, so close that he could feel her heartbeat, was idly tracing one of his scars – one he'd received from an Aswang, seven years ago. It had been a nasty wound, and it had gotten infected before he had a chance to reach St Mungo. It had left a long, ragged black scar just an inch from his heart.

He eyed Evey sideways; she was smiling, looking almost...smug. Walden still couldn't believe what had just happened. He didn't understand what she saw in him. Eventually, he decided that he might as well ask her directly. "Why me?"

"You say that as if it's a punishment," she complained.

Wrong choice of words. That was a common issue with him - he was used to dealing with magical beasts, but rarely interacted with human beings. His social skills were…well, he didn’t have any. Sociability had always been Tony’s strong point, and Walden had relied heavily upon him for that sort of things. "I didn’t mean it like that, V."

She smiled crookedly, indicating that she’d understood the question perfectly well indeed. "Because I like you," she said simply.

"That's not much of an answer," Walden grumbled. " _Why_ do you like me?"

She considered for a moment. "Because you're a good person. Because you're tough and brave and vulnerable. And, most importantly, because you're gorgeous." She grinned. Gorgeous? Was she being sarcastic? He couldn't tell.

"How can I be tough and vulnerable at the same time? And what makes you think I'm vulnerable, anyway?" That was not a word he would use to describe himself, no more than 'gorgeous' was.

"Because you feel guilty about everything you did when you were a Death Eater, and you want nothing more than to make up for it. I mean, you literally cut off your arm for that purpose," she said matter-of-factly. "Guilt and regret make people vulnerable. I should know," she added bitterly. It was survivor's guilt, in her case. She had convinced herself that she should have somehow handled Greyback and saved her family. Merlin, even Dumbledore would have had trouble doing that. The werewolf was uncommonly resistant to magic, and ruthless besides. Walden had told her that before, of course, he and Tony both, but Evey was having none of it. She would heal with time, he supposed. He hoped that she would, for her sake. Guilt had a tendency to permeate your mind until you couldn't think, blotting out everything that was good and positive in your life.

"You're also caring, no matter how much you try to conceal it," Evey went on. "You only became a Death Eater because of Tony, didn't you?"

Walden frowned, tensing slightly. "What did he tell you?"

"That Rookwood recruited him, and that he went over with barely a pause. That you joined him three weeks later because you were afraid he might do something stupid and get himself hurt – or worse," she said.

Walden hesitated, but he figured that she might as well hear the whole story. She’d trusted them from day one with _her_ secret; he owed it to her. "Did he also tell you that he persuaded the court he had me under the Imperium Curse the whole time, so that I wouldn't be prosecuted? He confessed to killing both Gideon and Fabian, when I actually killed Fabian myself.” He paused, feeling nauseated by the dreadful memories that assaulted his mind as he said the words. He’d never confessed out loud, had never told anyone else. “I didn't even go to trial." That was the sort of things that never failed to prompt a rush of guilt. Walden had never protested, when Tony took the blame for both murders. What would he have done if he’d been the first to be interrogated? He didn’t think he would have even considered sacrificing his own life to absolve Antonin from blame. And when Tony had spoken, eyes and voice steady, Walden had been too stunned to object. No one else had contested his confession - not even Molly, who’d witnessed the scene. The other Death Eaters involved hadn’t been present at their preliminary hearing - they were already in Azkaban, condemned to life for other crimes.

Of course, they'd never meant to harm Molly's brothers. It had been retribution for helping a prisoner escape the dungeons. Voldemort had ordered them to tag along with the Lestranges and Bellatrix had forced them to deliver the killing blow – one twin each. It had been the first - and thankfully last - time that they'd been sent to execute someone. Other Death Eaters usually took care of that, people like Travers or Rowle. Walden had been Voldemort's middle man for all dealings with magical creatures, and Tony was the one who came up with new spells and magical artefacts. That was how they had lured his brother in the first place, by promising him that he would have all the resources he wanted and that he could experiment on whatever he fancied, as long as he worked on a few projects for them. Often as not, those 'projects' had involved discovering new methods of dealing pain and extracting information, but not in the beginning. Voldemort had been much more subtle in the early days.

"I did not know that," Evey said softly, bringing him out of his reverie.

"You deserve better than me, V."

"I'm sure I do. But what's better than perfect?" she mused.

She just wouldn’t see reason, would she? "Gorgeous, perfect… What else? Do you have something to atone for?" he asked her suspiciously.

Evey chuckled, moving on to the next scar on his chest - round and crimson, a present from an angry Manticore. The poison contained in its vicious tail had reached Walden’s bloodstream within seconds, but he’d developed an immunity to most poisons over his years as Warden. Anyone else would have died in atrocious pain in a matter of minutes, but Walden had made it to St Mungo just in time. "Stunning. That's actually the word that came to me when you opened the door, that day."

“That day?” he repeated. “What, when we first met?" Now she was taking the piss for sure. He scowled at her, but she avoided his gaze.

"I know, it's stupid," she said abashedly. "There's no such thing as love at first sight, blah blah blah. And you were being a real twat. But I never really managed to shake off the initial crush. You know, I sometimes feel faint just looking at you smile." She was blushing furiously now, eyes downcast.

Love at first sight? She felt _faint_? "You're crazy," he murmured.

"All the best people are," Evey said brightly.

Walden snorted. That was exactly what Jeanne had told him, almost a year ago. "Fair enough," he said. He turned around to face Evey and kissed her, feeling her smile against his mouth. "I think we should keep this to ourselves," he said a moment later. "At least for the time being. What do you think?"

"Are you scared of Mrs Weasley?" she asked slyly. "No, I'm just kidding. You're right. They'll all be gone in a few days, anyway. We'll just let Sirius know after the holidays. Maybe."

Walden nodded. "Did Tony know about this?"

"I'm not sure. I mean, I didn't _tell_ him anything, but he must have noticed. I wasn't exactly discreet or subtle, you know. It's difficult not to stare at you, sometimes," she said affectionately.

"It's funny, because I thought you liked _him_ , actually," Walden admitted.

"Tony?" She laughed. "Well, I like him, but not like that. Although…” She pondered for a moment. “Yeah, when you die, I might consider him as a replacement."

"I appreciate your ability to project yourself so far into the future," he said wryly.

Evey grinned, eyes twinkling. "The fact that he's immortal complicates everything, though. That means he'll retain his good looks forever, while mine wither and fade. I don't like that."

Walden wished she hadn’t brought on the topic, but… "V, you do realise that I'll be forty soon, yes?" he said more seriously. "My _stunning_ looks won't remain what they are for very long."

"You'll always be good-looking to me," she said with a shrug.

She would likely change her mind in a few years, but they might as well enjoy what they had while it lasted. Walden cast about for another topic of conversation. He had never been good at coming up with conversational subjects, so he settled for the first thing that crossed his mind, as he often did. "What was the thing that struck you the most about the wizarding world, after you found out that you were a witch?"

Evey didn’t even take a moment to consider her answer. "Everything," she replied earnestly. She didn't comment on the completely random question, either. "To find out that all the stories were true," she went on, "all the fairy tales, the legends – partly true, at least. I mean, unicorns were real! And all the gods… And the dinosaurs! Oh, I used to be crazy about dinosaurs. I still can't believe they were in fact sentient magical creatures who annihilated themselves in a full-scale war. I was very disappointed about that.” She brushed some hair away from her face; her eyes had taken a faraway look, as though she’d traveled seven years in the past. “When I was a bit older, and already a bit more...nonchalant about it all… That is to say, when I was a teenager," she said with a grin, "that was when I found out about Tolkien and the fact that the Elves were real." She gazed up at him in wonder. "I still can't quite wrap my head around it, you know. I mean, it's one thing to know that there are vampires and pixies, and another to realise that your favourite books in the world are based on facts, even loosely adapted ones. I'm still surprised that they let him publish it, though. Doesn't that work against the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?"

"Nah, too much of it is made up. Who in the Muggle world would believe that it's real, anyway?" he asked with a laugh. He loved how enthusiastic she became when she enjoyed a particular topic, how passionate she sounded, the way her eyes shone with excitement. “So you’d already read Tolkien by the time you found out you were a witch? At...eleven?”

She gave him an odd look. “Well, obviously. Hadn’t everyone read _The Lord of the Rings_ by that age? My mum used to read The Hobbit to us when we were little kids, and I moved on to the One Ring trilogy when I was 8 or 9. And then onwards to _The Silmarillion_ , of course.”

“I’ve never read any of those,” Walden admitted. Evey stared at him. “I was at Hogwarts when I learned about the Muggle books - I already knew about Elves and such, of course, being raised in a wizarding home - but I just wasn’t interested in reading them, knowing it was all fake.”

“It’s not _all_ fake,” Evey pointed out. She sighed. “I can’t believe you’ve never read… I don’t think we can be together, now that you’ve shared this incredibly disturbing piece of information about yourself.”

Walden chuckled awkwardly, unsure if she was entirely messing with him.

“Merlin, relax! I’m just kidding. Don’t you _dare_ leave this bed.” Abruptly she was on top of him, smiling devilishly. "You'll have to physically remove me." She leaned forward.

And just then, as Murphy’s law would have it, there was a knock on the door. "Are you decent?" Tony called from the hall. Walden let out a relieved breath. If it had been Molly, Walden would be a dead man. "Guys?"

Damn, could he speak any louder? They might not have heard him from downstairs - or from across the Atlantic Ocean. Good thing that not everyone had Tony’s enhanced hearing. Evey chuckled. "We are most certainly _not_ decent," she called back just as loudly.

"I come in peace," Tony said, "and I bring an offering of food."

They exchanged a meaningful look. Well, that changed everything. He was starved, and he could hear Evey's stomach rumble at the mention of food. A second later both of them were hunting down their discarded clothes.

Evey opened the door when they were more or less dressed and took a surprised step back when Tony hugged her. "I couldn't imagine a better sister-in-law," he said with a grin when he released her. He turned to Walden and clapped his shoulder. "And you… Aw, Wal, I'm so proud of you. My baby brother has finally become a man." He pretended to wipe away a tear from his eye. Evey was shaking with laughter.

"You idiot," Walden muttered. “You know I’m older than you, right?” Only by a day, but still.

Tony pretended not to hear him. "So! When are you getting married? I can be your wedding planner. I'll be your best man, of course, so I'll take care of the stag party. Don't worry, I already have a few ideas. Personally, I think spring weddings are the best. Also, you should–"

"For Merlin’s sake, will you shut up?" Walden growled at him.

"Mm, we're not quite there yet. And before you ask, no, we're not naming our first child after you," Evey added with a smirk. Walden’s face must have visibly paled, because they both laughed. “It’s a _joke_ , Wal. Gods, for once in your life, relax, would you? It’s Christmas, we’re all more or less alive, everything’s fine.”

"Yeah, cheer up, mate,” Tony said. Easy for him to say. He’d never had complex relationships with women. They’d never lasted long enough to become complex.

"Anyway. Moving on to important business,” Evey said. “I believe you mentioned food?"


	19. Bleach for the mind

Tony opened the door without knocking – and without thinking. "Gah, my eyes! I’m blind!" he exclaimed, turning around quickly when he realised that they were...underdressed. He heard Evey laugh and Walden grumble inarticulately. "Sorry! I forgot." He closed the door and waited impatiently in the hall until Evey let him in. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important?" he asked her wryly.

Evey shrugged carelessly. “We weren't doing anything. Just couldn't be bothered to put on clothes," she replied with a grin. Walden was clearly a bad influence on her. "What was the rush?"

Oh, right. He’d almost forgotten. "There's been a mass breakout at Azkaban. Nine Death Eaters escaped…including Bellatrix," Tony announced, glancing at Walden.

"And so it begins," his brother said glumly, rubbing his eyes one at a time. "Who else got out?"

"Rodolphus and Rabastan, Augustus, Mulciber, Selwyn, Travers, Jugson and Gibbon."

"All the Lestranges are out," Walden muttered. "And that piece of shit, Travers… Bloody hell. Does the Ministry know how they escaped?"

Tony shook his head. "No, they're clueless, as usual. I’m guessing that the Dementors have gone rogue, at least some of them. Dementors attacked Potter last summer, right?" Evey nodded slowly.

"Possibly, but…” Walden began hesitantly. “Did Jeanne… Do you reckon that's why she was in Azkaban, when she met you?”

Tony had considered that already, but how would he know? He hadn't seen or heard from his maker since she'd abandoned him at the manor, about a year ago. "I don't know.” Gods, he certainly hoped not. “I'll be sure to enquire when I next see her, but it seems contradictory, don’t you think? I mean, one of the reasons she allowed me to return home was that I could help fight Voldemort."

“Right. Well, no matter how they managed it, they’re out now. That’s pretty terrible news for the Order.”

"What kind of relationship did you have with the other Death Eaters?" Evey asked out of the blue. "Did you see them often? Did you all live together at the Evil Incorporated Headquarters? Did you throw wild parties, organise gin rummy tournaments, and-"

Tony cut her off with a shaky laugh, though she’d hit close to the mark. Wild parties, indeed. Tony had truly wished he were blind on several occasions – he’d witnessed things he would never dare tell Evey about. She had enough nightmares as it was. Tony remembered Selwyn and Jugson and their...unhealthy fetish for demons. Yikes _._ Bleach for the mind, that’s what he needed. " _We_ lived there, alright. We didn't have much choice. Voldemort put a binding spell on us both, when we became reticent to help and showed signs of defection. If we'd tried to leave the place without his permission, we would have died. At least that's what he told us."

"The others came and went as they pleased,” Walden went on. “Voldemort himself rarely made an appearance. We didn't have much contact with the rest of them, except for a few. Augustus was usually there in the morning, because he was the go-between who relayed Voldemort's orders.” He paused. “He's not so bad, I guess."

"At least not compared to Bellatrix," Tony put in. "That one is bat-shit crazy, and Azkaban didn't have a positive influence on her mental health, as you can imagine. Her husband is only slightly better, because he's more or less sane, but he's a first-class arsehole, if you’ll pardon my French. And Rabastan…" He trailed off, trying to think of a word to describe the younger Lestrange sibling.

"He's like Bellatrix. He enjoys hurting people. Rodolphus is a twat, but he doesn't care about anything. He won't go out of his way to cause trouble. He's dispassionate, but lucid, rational," Walden said. "Rabastan is a rabid dog. He's paranoid, and he cares only about himself. Bellatrix is different, because Voldemort is top-priority to her. She would do anything to see him triumph, no matter the cost to her person, and she’ll bulldoze any obstacle with never a care for the consequences of her actions."

"Augustus has never killed anyone, at least. That I know of," Tony amended. "He was just a spy, and a recruiter." He'd recruited Tony himself. Augustus Rookwood was incredibly charismatic; he had a way with words and an uncanny ability to make people like him and adhere to his opinions - without the Imperius Curse. Needless to say, Voldemort knew that very well and used it to his advantage.

"And the others?" Evey asked. "I don't think I've even heard of them. Who's Travers, and why is he a piece of shit?"

Tony snorted. ‘Piece of shit’ was putting it mildly.

"He must have killed more people than all the rest of them combined, except possibly..." Walden trailed off. Except possibly Greyback, he must have been about to say. He cleared his throat roughly. "Travers wiped out entire families during the War. And he fucking liked it, the bastard. He was so proud of himself, always bragging about it."

"Oh, who are we kidding," Tony said grimly. "A spy can do as much damage as a cold-blooded murderer, if he's any good. If not for Augustus, they would never have located Fabian and Gideon."

"Did you…" Evey began timidly. "You knew Mr and Mrs Weasley before the War, right?" She looked as though she'd wanted to ask that for a while. She must have held back before because it was edging close to a much more sensitive matter. "I mean, I know that you k…that you were involved in the deaths of Mrs Weasley's brothers, but you already knew her before that." It wasn't a question, this time.

"Yes, we knew the Weasleys prior to joining Voldemort," Tony admitted, guilt twisting at his gut, as usual when the topic was brought on. Not that he blamed Evey for asking; it was a perfectly legitimate question. "After I graduated from Hogwarts, I studied for two years at the Wizarding University of Edinburgh, and then I was hired at the Ministry, to work in the Department of Magical Equipment Control as an engineer. Molly used to work as a cleaner, back then – that was when she only had three kids. We would take our breaks together, have some tea and chat for a while. I met Arthur a few weeks later, when he was transferred to another department. We got along great, and for Christmas that year they invited me over to the Burrow. I told her that I had to decline, because Walden's dad had just passed away and my mum was alone at home. But you know Molly – she insisted that we all joined them. And we did, too."

"I'd never seen anything quite like it," Walden said. "I'd only met Arthur and Molly once or twice before, briefly. When we got to the Burrow, there were so many people that I suspected they’d used an Extension Charm on the house. There was more food on the table than I eat in a year." He smiled in remembrance. "Even your mum was stunned," he said to Tony.

"And Ma usually cooked for an army herself, so that speaks volumes. We had a great time that day. I played with the kids for over two hours – they were as insistent as their mother can be – and Walden spent the day talking cars with Arthur."

"You have a car?" Evey asked Walden with some surprise.

"I've got three. And two motorbikes. I don't actually _use_ them, though. It's just… My dad was a bit like Arthur, fascinated by Muggles and non-magical technology. He was one of the first wizards – Pure-blood wizards, anyway – to own a television. We kept most of his stuff after he died." He shrugged. "He used to let us help him work repairs on the cars, and he taught us both how to drive."

"He always said it might come in handy," Tony said. "Well, I guess it did, since Arthur insisted that we teach him. I’ve never used a car anywhere else that on the estate, though."

"Estate?" Evey repeated, obviously confused.

"The domain. The property. Where we used to live, before we got here?" Tony explained. Did she not know about this? What was pillow talk for, if not mentioning that you owned one of the largest estates in Scotland, and were filthy rich besides? Tony usually led with that relevant piece of information when he was chatting up girls, even though, technically, everything belonged to Walden. "You know, that ridiculously large manor house with thousands of acres where Walden illegally stores the magical creatures he rescues," he went on with a grin. Walden glared at him.

Evey gaped in surprise. "Your garden is a _reservation_?" ‘Garden’ was a cute euphemism. There was a park, a forest, a lake…

Walden rolled his eyes. "Of course not. I just keep a few beasts there, is all. A hippogriff. A poffle of puffskeins. A few pxies and fairies. Some thestrals. There's a kelpie in the pond, and a tiny dragon in one of the caverns," he muttered.

Tony sniggered. A _pond_? Blimey, it was larger than the Great Lake at Hogwarts!

Evey was laughing now, and she clapped her hands in delight. "You have a dragon at home. A bloody  _dragon_!" She shook her head in wonder, her hazel eyes bright. "This is amazing! I can't wait to visit."

"And I can't wait to show you around," Walden told her earnestly.

_Dawww_. Tony held back a smirk. "His dad would have liked you, you know," he said more seriously. "He would have pestered you with questions about Muggle life, and he would have told everyone he met that his daughter-in-law was Muggle-born as if you were a treasured prize." He chuckled. "Come to think of it, Ma would have liked you, too. You're practical and sensible, just like her. She couldn't abide foolish people."

Evey was blushing slightly. "I wish I could have met them." She looked up at Tony. "Your mum… Was she Russian? I mean, were you born there? You don't have an accent at all."

"I don't even _speak_ Russian," Tony admitted. "Ma immigrated to Edinburgh before I was born, in 1957. I never knew my father. Dolohov was her name, not his. I don't know what happened to him. She told me that he walked out on her when he found out that she was pregnant. All I know is that he was a wizard, so I'm not Muggle-born. Not that it matters," he added hastily when Evey frowned. "Walden's father hired my mother as a governess when I was five, to take care of Walden and help his wife, because she was ill. Walden's mum died two years later, but we never left. Walden’s dad and Ma only got married when we were in our fourth year at Hogwarts, but they must have been together for a while. I'm not sure how long, though." He glanced at Walden, but his brother simply shook his head. He didn't know, either. They'd come back to the manor for the summer holidays and Fergus had quietly announced that they were going to be married in August, with just the four of them to attend the simple ceremony.

"And your mother died while you were in Azkaban?" Evey asked gently.

"Four years ago, yes. They never told me, though. I only found out when I returned home. High-security prisoners are completely cut off from the outside world. We're not allowed visitors, although there are exceptional cases, I suppose," Tony said bitterly. Bartemius Crouch Sr. and his wife had been granted visits with their son, after all, but the old man was a prominent Ministry official. That must have helped.

They fell silent for a moment. "Which House were you in, at Hogwarts?" Evey went on in an obvious attempt at a lighter topic of conversation. “I can’t believe I never asked before.”

Tony grinned at her. "You'll never guess," he said with a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Let's see. You're an opportunist, that's certain, and you're ambitious, so you might qualify for Slytherin, but that's not quite right, is it?" Tony shrugged, still smiling. There was no way she would get the correct House on the first try. He was a Death Eater. It was almost expected of him to be in the least popular House – least popular since the War, anyway. He seriously pitied the current Slytherin kids.

"It must be Hufflepuff, then," Evey declared. Tony stared at her in astonishment. "Ha!" she said triumphantly. "It makes sense, you know. You're sociable, outgoing and hard-working. Dedicated to your work, given the time you spend tinkering in the living room, and fair-play, when we play board games. Even when I cheat,” she added mischievously.

“I bloody knew it!” Tony exclaimed.

Evey chuckled softly. “You're not exactly patient, though," she went on with a smirk. "The Sorting Hat must have at least hesitated when he realised how excitable you were."

Tony shook his head. "I don't know. It didn't ask for my opinion. It did take a while before announcing Hufflepuff, though." He grinned again. "And Walden?"

"I'm torn between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw," Evey admitted, glancing at Walden.

"The Hat was torn, too," Wal said with a small smile, though the Sorting Ceremony had been anything but pleasant, for him. Being separated from Antonin had almost caused him to have a meltdown and return home. He’d harassed Professor Sprout for days afterward, demanding to be accepted into Hufflepuff. "But it settled for Ravenclaw, eventually."

"A good decision, I'd say." Evey nodded approvingly. "Now," she went on, "what about me?"

"Slytherin," Tony and Walden said almost at the same time.

Evey laughed. "Aw, thank you. I'm glad it's obvious. It must be Merlin's blood flowing in my veins," she said delightedly.

"Well, talk about opportunistic. You're worse than I am," Tony remarked slyly. "No, really, it couldn't have been anything else.”

"You're Slytherin House personified,” Walden said earnestly, “and I mean that in the best possible way. I've never seen anyone display so many of its inherent qualities without showing sign of the nastier traits.”

Evey's cheeks flushed at the compliment. That had to be the first time Tony had ever seen Walden complimenting someone out loud. Evey certainly had a positive influence on him. _Bloody hell, he's actually falling in love with her_ , he realised with a start. Falling in love was something Walden rarely allowed himself to do. When Tony looked back on the girls his brother used to date, it wasn't surprising. Often as not, it had been the Macnairs' renowned wealth that attracted their attention, when it wasn't Walden's Pure-blood status. No wonder he had trust issues.

"Hey," Evey said suddenly, "do you think they'll allow me to get in touch with the rest of my family, when Voldemort has been dealt with?"

"The rest of your family?" Tony repeated with a frown.

"My aunt and uncles, my little cousins… I mean, they live in Ireland, and we rarely saw each other, even before…you know, before. But still," she went on, "they're the only relatives I have left. The last of my kin."

"Do they think you're dead?" Tony asked. He hadn’t considered that. He’d simply assumed that Evey was here because she had no living family.

"Well, I guess so. The whole world thinks I'm dead, right? I mean, the Ministry people probably made up some cover-up story, since they're Muggles, something other than 'they were massacred by a rabid werewolf', but the result is the same." Walden put his good arm around her.

"Damn, V, I had no idea. I'm sorry," Tony whispered.

"They're alive, that's what matters," she said resolutely. "They wouldn't understand, anyway. Besides, I’m not alone. I have you.”

Tony nodded solemnly. “And we have _you_.”

"We’re here for you, V. Always,” Walden said quietly. “But maybe they’ll allow you to return to your family when it's all over," Walden said, though they all knew it was unlikely. The Statute of Secrecy was very strict, no matter the circumstances, and Evey had already been officially declared dead. Had Dumbledore even thought about that? Probably. Hopefully he had a plan to resolve the situation once Voldemort was dealt with. "This is just a precaution, after all. We don't know whether Greyback was after you for a specific reason, or if you were just a random target."

"I know," Evey said with a sigh, "but you heard Remus. He doesn’t even know if Greyback is still in England. I’m seriously beginning to doubt that we'll ever find out why he attacked us."

“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Tony muttered, “if it means that we’ll never encounter him again.” Evey’s eyes flashed with anger, her lips tightening, but she didn’t say anything.

Tony suspected that her plans for the werewolf didn’t involve staying clear of him. He hoped that her thirst for revenge didn’t lead her to take inconsiderate risks, to put herself in danger unnecessarily. He hoped Greyback was captured or died before Evey ever got to face him again. It would be in everyone’s best interest - including Greyback’s, judging by Evey’s reaction whenever he was mentioned.


	20. Bratja

_34 years ago_

“You will behave yourself, yes? This is important, Antosha.” Her son nodded tiredly, trudging along on the muddy, gloomy pathway.

Irina had been struggling to find a steady popsition for years. They'd moved twice since Antonin was born, from Edinburgh to Liverpool, and finally to London, where she'd had a bit more luck finding employment. Few people were willing to hire someone with a child, even less so a Russian immigrant, given the current political context. Irina had dreamed of taking up studies, so that she could find a better position, eventually, but it was far too expensive; she couldn’t even afford a babysitter for her son.

Antonin would be six in a few months; he was a sweet child, full of energy and highly intelligent. She supposed that most mothers thought their children intelligent, but Antonin could already read and write, and his English was much better than hers. Of course, English was the only language he knew. Irina had decided against teaching him Russian, so as not to confuse him. It would make his life easier, if he spoke like a native of this country. Even his name was not Russian in origin, although she had named him after her father, Anton.

She’d found a few jobs here and there, earning just enough to live by, but this was a tremendous opportunity. As a person with no magical talents, unlike her son, Irina would never have spotted the job advertisement, but Antonin had picked up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ while she was doing the laundry, and he had found the page with the ads and read it aloud to her. She couldn’t see it herself, for the newspaper was enchanted to appear blank to Muggles, as the wizards called people like her, but there was an address, and even a phone number – odd, considering that they were advertising in a magical newspaper. It was a long way, far up north, in the Highlands of Scotland, but the employer had specified that priority would be given to women with young children.

Irina had called and received a positive answer, with a request that she present herself at the employer’s house as soon as possible, so she had scraped together all the money she had left and gotten them both train tickets. She couldn’t afford a taxi, so they had walked the rest of the way – three hours on foot, in the cold February rain. It was almost 8 in the evening by the time they’d caught sight of the front gate. The manor house loomed in the distance, a magnificent, well-kept structure so large that it could probably house fifty people. Irina wondered if she would be able to be a housekeeper for so many people. So far, she had only obtained cleaning jobs. She had no real experience as a housekeeper, at least not in a British household. The few potential employers she had met had deemed her accent too pronounced, or they had refused her because of Antonin.

Despite the late hour, she had sounded the bell – they had nowhere else to go, and Antonin was shivering with cold, though he’d never complained once on the way from the station. Irina hoped that it wouldn’t give her future employer a bad first impression. Antonin yawned, but he was still lucid enough to cover his mouth when he did.

Two minutes later, a strange creature met them at the gate. It was of a size with her son, and quite ugly, with bulging eyes. It was wearing a simple cloth around the waist. Irina put a protective arm around Antonin, who stood gaping at the odd little being. The gate opened without any prompting.

“Mrs Dolohov?” the creature asked politely, bowing low. Technically, her name was Irina Antonovna Dolohova, but she had put all of that behind her when she’d landed in the United Kingdom. It was too complicated for foreigners. Now, she was just Irina Dolohov.

“Miss,” she corrected it briskly. “I am sorry to call this late, but it was a long walk from the station.”

“Walk?” the creature repeated, frowning. “The mistress said nothing of it. I’m certain that the master would have come to meet you at the station with the car, if you had mentioned it on the phone.”

Even if she had known that her employer had a chauffeur, Irina would never have asked for a ride. She disliked asking anyone for help. It felt too much like begging. Besides, how would it have looked? She didn’t want to appear lazy.

“Is this all your luggage?” it went on.

They had only one suitcase. They did not own much. Irina nodded curtly, and the little being stepped forward to take it. She clutched it tightly. “I will carry it, thank you,” she said firmly.

The creature looked confused, but at length it bowed again. “As you wish, Miss.” He gestured toward the house. “If you will follow me?”

As Irina stepped through the gate, she noticed that it wasn’t raining inside the vast estate. She held back a shudder. Magic did not frighten her, but she was wary of it. That these people would dare to mess with the weather itself… It felt wrong.

It was another five minutes before they reached the staircase that led to the front entrance. It truly was a large propriety; there seemed to be woods behind the main building, and the…garden spanned too far on either side of her to make out its borders in the gloom. Irina wondered how many gardeners they must have, to keep it all so well-maintained. There was a marble fountain near the staircase, bathed in a soft glow that came from no appliance that Irina could see. It represented a beautiful maiden, apparently clothed in waves. Antonin, curious as ever, his fatigue forgotten as he approached the water, started when tiny, colourful fishes sprang from the fountain.

“Antosha, stay close to me,” Irina said, grabbing his hand. Until she knew exactly what the creature was, she would rather that her son remained by her side.

They ascended the stairs and found themselves facing a carved wooden door. The entrance was illuminated, like the fountain, by no visible device. The carvings represented mythical animals, as far as Irina could make out. There was something that looked like a dragon, and possibly a unicorn. The door opened seemingly on its own accord, and the little creature ushered them inside.

An enormous chandelier gave off a bright light in the hall. Their guide led them to the right, into what appeared to be the living room. There, a pale, frail-looking woman with brittle auburn hair sat reading a book in a leather chair. She didn’t notice the newcomers right away, absorbed in her reading as she was. The creature cleared its throat, and the young woman turned her head toward the sound. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Irina and Antonin.

“Miss Dolohov!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat after carefully setting a bookmark inside her book. “We didn’t know to expect you today. I had assumed you would need more time to settle your affairs in London.”

“There wasn’t much to settle,” Irina replied briefly. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you so late, Mrs Macnair. I didn’t think it would be so far from the station.”

“Oh, did the taxi get lost? It happens, sometimes. We’re well-hidden, here in the woods, and few people come this way,” the lady of the house said apologetically.

“We didn’t have money for the taxi,” Antonin blurted out. “We walked all the way. It’s very pretty around here.” Irina stared at him in horror. It wasn’t like him to speak out of turn; he must be quite tired indeed.

“You walked all the way from the station?” Mrs Macnair repeated in a strangled voice.

Irina turned to her, blushing in embarrassment. “I apologise, Mrs Macnair. I’m afraid my son is weary from the journey. Please excuse him.”

“Oh no, no, _I’m_ sorry. I had no idea. You should have said! We would have come to pick you up at the station.” She indicated the couch. “Please, sit down. Caraid, will you make us some tea and fetch some blankets for our guests?” She seemed to be addressing the creature. Mrs Macnair regarded Antonin with a sweet smile. “Or would you prefer something else? Apple juice, hot cocoa-”

Antonin revived at this. “Cocoa!” Then he flinched, glanced at Irina, and added hastily, “please, Mrs Macnair. Thank you.” Irina nodded approvingly.

Mrs Macnair laughed softly. “Tea and hot cocoa, then, please, Caraid,” she instructed the creature. It bowed deeply and departed.

They all took a seat in the cosy room. It was tastefully decorated; Irina had expected a much more old-fashioned décor, admittedly. These old manor houses usually looked like museums.

“What is your name, dear?” Mrs Macnair asked Antonin.

“I’m Antonin,” he replied politely. “I’m almost six,” he added, keenly anticipating the next question.

“What a pleasant coincidence!” Mrs Macnair said delightedly. “My son will be six soon. I hope you will be good friends. He doesn’t have much company, I’m afraid,” she went on, addressing Irina. “It’s only the four of us here, and Caraid is hardly suited to play with little children – although he tries his best, I’m certain.” She put a hand over her mouth, as if suddenly realising something. “Oh, but you must have been so surprised at seeing him! I’m terribly sorry. You mentioned being a Muggle, with little knowledge of the wizarding world.” She raised her hands in a reassuring gesture when Irina made a face. “Do not worry about it. I wouldn’t have you come all the way up here if it were a problem. Caraid is our house elf,” she explained. “He has served my husband’s family for six generations. You are perfectly safe around him; his kind is known to be meek and pacifist.”

“I see,” Irina said. It wasn’t much information, but it would have to do for now.

“My husband is working in the garage,” Mrs Macnair went on, glancing at the grandfather clock. “He will join us shortly, to tuck Walden in. My son,” she clarified. “He’s in the conservatory, studying glow-worms, like as not.” She chuckled softly. “He is fascinated by all creatures, big or small, magical or not. He spends most of his time outside, regardless of the weather. We used to take long walks in the woods, he and I, but I’m afraid my…condition does not permit me that sort of activities nowadays,” she said sadly.

Mrs Macnair had not specified what ailed her, but over the phone she had explained that it was incurable, and that it was the main reason why they needed a governess. She had implied that she had someone to take care of the house and garden – this…house elf creature, presumably, although Irina had expected that is was in fact the job of several people – but she wanted someone to look after Walden, and to assist her in her daily routine. As Irina would soon realise, Mrs Macnair needed more assistance than she had let on. Indeed, even getting out of bed was becoming increasingly difficult for her.

She had requested someone with children because she feared that her son was too lonely; as most young wizards of Pure-blood lineage, he was home-schooled, and there were no other children his age in the village nearby. Moreover, their only living kin was Mr Macnair's mother. She lived in a retirement home, not being quite herself most days. Apparently, it was a polite way of saying that she was utterly senile. Mrs Macnair, an only child, had been orphaned very young, and Mr Macnair had lost his two brothers and his sister during the Great Plague of dragon pox, in the late thirties. His father had passed away just before Walden was born.

The house elf was back with their refreshments. Before it floated a large tray with two pots, three cups, and an assortment of biscuits. Antonin grabbed three of those and gulped down his hot cocoa as soon as it had cooled down enough, despite Irina’s reproachful gaze.

Mrs Macnair smiled. “I’m sure you must be exhausted, after such an expedition in the cold rain. Antonin, why don’t you go find my son, Walden, so that he can show you where you’ll sleep? He’s in the room to your right when you go out of the salon, at the end of the corridor.”

Antonin looked at his mother for permission to leave, and Irina nodded. He went off at a run. It amazed her sometimes, all that energy.

“I hope you don’t mind if they share a room,” Mrs Macnair said, biting her lower lip. “It’s not for lack of space, you understand, but I thought it’d be good for Walden, and hopefully for Antonin as well.”

Well, Irina would have preferred to be consulted, but she would allow it – unless Mrs Macnair’s son proved to be a bad influence on Antonin, of course. On the other hand, it seemed that it had already been decided that Irina had the job, and that they were welcome to stay. There hadn’t even been a proper interview, but Irina wasn’t about to complain.

“I have arranged for you to sleep in the room next to ours, Miss Dolohov. I sometimes wake up during the night, from the pain, and I prefer not to disturb my husband’s rest – as an Auror, he often works late – so there is a bell for me to call you if I am in need. I hope that this is alright with you. I hate to be a bother, but I have difficulty moving about, especially at night, after the effects of the medication wear off…”

“That is quite alright.” Irina was no nurse, but she had been assured that all medical – or magical – treatment would be performed by qualified personnel. There was very little of that, though, Mrs Macnair explained matter-of-factly. She had to take several pain-relieving draughts every day, but that was all that could be done for her at this point.

 _What a pity_ , Irina thought. _She’s so young._ Well, she couldn’t cure Mrs Macnair, but she could make certain that her final days were as pleasant as possible.

* * *

Antonin paused in front of the glass-covered little house – even the door was transparent. He had never seen anything quite like it. Even from where he stood, he could see the starry night sky. Of course, now that they were cosy and warm inside the impossibly gigantic building, the rain had finally stopped pouring, and the clouds had dispersed.

There was another little boy inside the glass house. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, gazing fixedly at something Antonin couldn’t distinguish from his vantage. Taking a deep breath to give himself some courage, he pushed the door open.

The other kid didn’t turn as he stepped inside, so Antonin walked up to him quietly, so as not to disturb him. When he paused a few feet away, the boy glanced at him.

“Hi,” he said, a bit awkwardly. “I’m Antonin. I’m almost six.” Whenever he was introduced to someone, they always asked for his age at one point or another in the conversation, so he had taken the habit of giving it away with his name. It was more practical that way. “You’re…Walden?” The name was unfamiliar to him. He hoped he’d gotten the pronunciation right.

The boy was frowning slightly, but he nodded after a moment, before returning his attention to… Antonin’s eyes opened wide, and he gaped slightly.

There was a lizard on the wall, a thick, horned beast as long as his arm, and it _glowed_ , as though it’d swallowed a torch.

“What is it?” he asked, wonder in his voice. The house elf had been intriguing enough, but this was something else entirely.

“ _Subluceo Draconis,_ ” Walden replied. He spoke in a very low voice, and he had a thick accent, but that didn’t bother Antonin. Mr Argyle, their former neighbour back in London, who sometimes watched over Antonin when his mum had to work, had the same accent, and Antonin had become good at puzzling it out. He did not, however, understand the words. They didn’t sound like English at all.

“A glowing dragon,” Walden clarified. “They’re the same genus as the salamander.”

“It’s a _dragon_?” Antonin repeated incredulously.

“Uh-huh. You better not touch it, though. It would give you a rash.” He pulled up his sleeve and revealed a red patch on his arm. “It doesn’t hurt, but it itches like crazy.” He proceeded to scratch the rash as he said the words.

“I thought dragons would be bigger than that,” Antonin remarked, feeling somewhat disappointed.

“There are many species of dragons,” Walden explained patiently. “This one is rather small, but the Hebridean Black can grow up to 30 feet and carry off cattle.”

“Damn,” Antonin said. He blushed when he realised what he’d said, glancing toward the glass door, half-expecting his mother to come barging in to reprimand him. “Sorry,” he muttered, eyes downcast.

Walden shrugged. “My dad cusses all the time. Are you with the new governess?” he asked after a moment of consideration.

“Yeah. I mean, yes,” Antonin said. “Ma says we’re going to stay here a while. She says she has to look after you and your mum because she’s sick.”

Walden nodded gravely but made no reply.

“So, um, can we be friends?” Antonin asked timidly.

“Friends?” Walden was frowning again.

“Well, we’re going to see each other a lot, so I thought…” Antonin trailed off, unsure what to say. He’d never seen a boy look as serious as Walden did at that moment.

“If you’re going to live here and sleep in my room, we won’t be just _friends_ ,” Walden said matter-of-factly. “We’ll be brothers.”


	21. I swore I'd never love again

It seemed like this would turn out to be just another tedious night at the Grim Old Place. Phineas chuckled to himself, pleased by his little pun. But truly, the house was aptly named.

His great-great-grandson spent his days and most of his nights moping in the attic, all the more now that the Potter boy had returned to Hogwarts. Sirius was a disappointment in many ways, but it was useless to dwell on the matter. There was nothing Phineas could do about it; as a portrait, people rarely paid him any attention, even those who ought to respect him, even his own kin. Kids these days.

The only other person who remained awake at night was the vampire, Dolohov, though watching him was barely more entertaining than watching Sirius. Often as not, Dolohov was tinkering with some enchanted heirloom he had likely stolen from somewhere in the house, but at least he was keeping busy, unlike Sirius.

There was something fishy about Dolohov. Never in his life had Phineas heard about a bloodsucker who remained awake during the day, for one thing, and for another, Dolohov was much too youthful-looking. Phineas had warned the Order, told them to be wary of the Death Eater, but once again, his wise counselling had gone unheeded. The 'vampire' was allowed to come and go as he pleased inside the house, unchecked.

Tonight, Dolohov was fiddling with what appeared to be a plain piece of wood - or was it wandwood? - although Salazar only knew what his purpose with the object was.

Oh, this was turning out to be one of these nights indeed. Perhaps Phineas ought to take a nap, or visit his portrait at Hogwarts?

As he considered his meagre options, there was a soft knock on the door. Dolohov stood in one smooth motion and opened it wide. It was the girl, the Mudblood. In the old days, her little affair with that Macnair fellow would have been called outrageous, scandalous even. The Macnairs were one of the most ancient Pure-blood families in Great Britain; this one's ancestors must be turning in their graves. Well, his father had been an oddball chap, not unlike Arthur Weasley. This…Walden’s taste for the improper must run in the family.

And the girl wasn't even from a high-standing Muggle family, oh no! She had no wealth, no proud name, no…well, no family, in fact. She had nothing; she was no one.

Such a tragic shame. The number of Pure-blood wizards and witches were dwindling dramatically as it was.

Phineas sighed, hiding inside his frame, and strained his ears toward their conversation. It would pass the time, at the very least.

* * *

Evey settled on the old couch and Tony sat down beside her. She took a deep breath. "When you said that, if I broke Walden’s heart, you would tear mine out of my chest…" she began without preamble.

"I know how it sounds," Tony cut in, "but I won't take that back."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Evey assured him. "I was just wondering what had brought that on. It seems a tad…drastic, but I'm sure there's a good reason behind it."

"Look, if you want to know, V, you should ask him directly."

"Oh, come on!” she complained. “You know he won't tell me anything. He doesn't like to talk about himself. Either that, or he'll be vague about it, and I'll be making up scenarios in my head to fill in the blanks. That's even worse."

"Fine," Tony said. He couldn’t refuse her anything. It was probably only a matter of time until he spilled everything he knew about the Ancients, if she kept insisting. "Walden… He just kept falling for the wrong people, you know?"

"Did he get cheated on?"

"Among other things." Would Walden be angry if he told Evey some of it? Probably. But she had to know that this was no laughing matter. Tony hadn't been around to protect his brother for fifteen years, but he was here now, and he'd be damned if he let anything happen to Walden under his watch. "His first girlfriend, Scarlet Carson, she cheated on him. We were in our last year at Hogwarts. It was around Easter, and we were studying hard for our NEWTs. It was the only holiday we ever spent at school, I think. Scarlet was a Ravenclaw, a seventh-year like us. She was the only other person besides Walden who intended to take Runes at the NEWT level, so they spent a lot of time studying together. He never said anything about her, and I only talked to her once or twice in passing. She wasn't much to look at, but Walden's not picky." Evey threw him a venomous look. "It's true," he said defensively. "I didn't mean that _you_ weren't much to look at." On the contrary. "It's just that Walden always had the ability to see beyond that. An ability I don't possess, I'm afraid.” Nor wanted to possess, but he didn’t add that out loud, lest Evey chew him off. “Anyway, by the end of the holidays, they were together. Then at the graduation party – did you attend your graduation party?" he asked her, suddenly curious.

Evey shook her head. "I'm not a party girl, and I had broken up with George the day before. And Cedric Diggory had just been murdered by a resurrected Voldemort. I really wasn't in the mood," she said wryly.

"Walden didn't want to go to ours either, but Scarlet insisted. I pinched some Firewhiskey from the kitchens and things degenerated quickly after that. Long story short, Scarlet finished the night in someone else's bed, and it wasn't Walden's. It sort of destroyed him, so I tried to cheer him up. Plenty more fish and all that," he added with a bitter smile. "Little did I know that the other fish would prove to be just as bad."

"Really? That bad?"

"Uh-huh. Except for Shoshana, I guess, but that's different." Tony passed a hand through his hair. "You know that Walden became an apprentice after graduating, right?" Evey nodded. "The former Warden, old Cunningham, he was a nasty drunken piece of shit. Everyone knew it, but he still received requests for apprenticeship every year. It's a prestigious position, regardless of all the downsides. In July, Walden started out with twelve others. Most of the apprentices didn't make it through the first month, as usual, so in August it was only Walden and this girl, Shoshana, and for the first time in his life he actually talked to me about a girl, without being prompted, so I was curious, as you can imagine. I met her once during the summer, albeit briefly. Cunningham worked them both hard. She was cute and funny and I was surprised at how comfortable Walden was around her. I never found out whether or not they were dating, though. She died two weeks later. Burned alive by a Common Welsh Green. Walden never mentioned her again."

"Merlin," Evey whispered. She had paled visibly. "That's horrible."

"Yeah. Wal didn't stay an apprentice for very long. Cunningham quickly realised that he had finally found the rare gem to replace him. He retired six months later. Walden is the youngest Warden Scotland has ever known. He _is_ good, admittedly." He paused to look Evey in the eyes. "And at least now you know why he refuses to take apprentices."

"We'll see about that," she muttered stubbornly. "And after that?" she prompted him.

"After that he worked himself to near exhaustion every single day for two years, while I finished my studies. We rarely saw each other. I really don't think he dated anyone during that time. The next girl was just after his family name. She was from a mixed-blood family, but her mother had great plans for her. She wanted the Macnair name, the wealth, the status. Of course, she never said so plainly. When Walden found out that her mother had set them up for that specific purpose, he saw red. Felt manipulated, I guess. The girl wasn't so bad, and I suppose they could have had something, but he can't abide dishonesty."

"Did he have some sort of trouble magnet?" Evey asked with a small smile.

"He still does, apparently," Tony replied teasingly.

"Fair enough. I had it coming. And then?"

Tony’s face took on a grim expression. "Soon afterward I joined Voldemort, and Walden followed. For a while everything was fine, but as you know we ended up being detained at the headquarters. No girlfriend there for either of us, of course. Bellatrix is far from hideous, but even I knew better than to flirt with her.” Gibbon had tried that, once. It hadn’t ended well for him. At least he would never have children; that was probably a blessing for the world. “Then I was arrested."

"You were both arrested," Evey corrected him. "But you told the court that Walden was under your influence the entire time."

Tony scowled at her. No one was supposed to know that. Then again, Walden had no reason not to trust Evey, even with something as important as that. "As you say," he said dismissively. "Now, regarding Walden’s numerous conquests _after_ I was imprisoned, I had to use every ounce of charm in my possession to pry it out of him, after we were reunited."

Evey snorted. "Charm? I didn't know that worked on Walden."

"Nah, it really doesn't. I got him drunk," Tony admitted with a falsely sheepish smile. "There was a girl who tried to scam him, then another who was after the Macnair wealth. It was my mum who unmasked her, apparently. She thought the lass was fishy, and it turned out that her family had gone bankrupt recently." He paused, idly fiddling with the piece of sycamore wandwood he'd been trying to enchant earlier. "Mm… Let's see. Oh, yes. The Voldemort worshipper."

Evey’s eyes widened. "Seriously?"

"I swear. Walden found out later that she'd already dated several former – presumed – Death Eaters. She was one crazy bitch, as I understand. Not sure how he didn't spot it right away."

“Wow. No wonder he was so conflicted about dating me, at first. He must have severe trust issues.” She held back a yawn. "Is that it? Only a handful of girlfriends in…what, twenty years?"

"Believe me, I'm more disappointed than anyone else about it. Before they took me to Azkaban, I told him to live his life as I would, but I guess he didn't understand that part." He frowned suddenly. "Wait, there was another one, actually, just a few years ago. Amandine, or something Frenchy like that. She works as a vet for magical creatures, so they were bound to spend a lot of time together after the old vet retired. It was casual, as far as I can make out, but Walden and casual are just not meant to be in the same sentence. He was shocked when he saw that she'd sprouted an engagement ring, even more so when she told him that they could still sleep together until the wedding." Tony sighed. "He's so adorably innocent. After everything that happened with his previous conquests, you'd think he'd be less naïve. Now he's just better at avoiding people, I guess. When he told me about this, he drunkenly swore that he would never date anyone ever again," he added with a smirk.

"What about you?" Evey enquired.

"Me?" he repeated. "What about me?"

"You must have had at least one girlfriend before going to prison," she said with an amused smile.

 _At least one?_ Tony snorted. "Obviously. I didn't keep count, though," he replied with a mischievous grin. "And I don't really remember one in particular," he added with a shrug. That was the simple truth. None of the girls he'd dated stood out in his memory. 'Girlfriends' was probably not the right term for them in any case.

There was another knock on the door. "Yeah, it's alright, we're decent," Tony called out. Evey chuckled softly.

Walden walked in, looking half-asleep. "What's going on?" He frowned at Evey. "Something wrong?"

"I couldn't sleep," she explained. "Too much on my mind."

"Were you talking about me?" his brother demanded.

"Nah, I was just telling V about our adventures in the Forbidden Forest, back when we were at Hogwarts," Tony lied.

Evey shook her head. "I'd certainly love to hear about _that_ sometime, but we were actually discussing your previous relationships," she told Walden earnestly. Merlin have mercy! They were both frighteningly honest with each other. What sort of relationship _was_ that? "I'm sorry, but when Tony said that he would murder me if I broke your heart, I got curious," she added timidly.

Walden rounded on Tony. "You said _what_?"

"Oi, don't put words in my mouth! I never said that," he assured Walden. Well, he hadn't phrased it like that. He cleared his throat. "Wal, I know that V is nothing like the tramps you used to date. It was just a fair warning."

Walden was silent for a moment. At length he turned to Evey. "I promise you, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he murmured. "By a long shot."

"Likewise," Evey replied delightedly.

Ugh. Did they have to be so nauseatingly adorable when Tony was around?

Walden yawned, without bothering to cover his mouth. "Now, if your cat-like curiosity has been satisfied, lass, can we go back to bed?"

* * *

Phineas let out a startled half-snore when Dolohov dropped the enchanted piece of wood and it fell on the table with a flat noise. Blimey, he was just as clumsy as Nymphadora.

Phineas had drowsed through most of the conversation, apparently, but if it had been as interesting as the first few sentences he'd caught, he hadn't missed much that was worthy of his attention.

He noted that the vampire now looked as glum as Sirius. "You oughtn't feel sorry for yourself," he said reasonably. "The girl is not worth the trouble."

The leech started, then glared at Phineas. "How long have you been there, you sneaky bastard?"

Such language! It was a disgrace, but what else could Phineas expect from a Half-blood vampire? "I'm merely saying, the girl is-"

"Don't talk about her. Besides, I have no idea what you're implying. I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm happy for them."

"Denial is not just a river in Egypt," Phineas muttered. Dolohov's eyes narrowed. "Oh, very well. It's none of my business, I suppose."

"It sure as hell isn't. Don't you have another portrait to visit, other people to torment?"

Phineas sniffed haughtily. "Young man, I'll have you know that this house-"

"...belongs to Sirius, and Sirius hates you. Leave me alone, dead man."

"Now that's the pot calling the kettle black," he grumbled, but Dolohov didn't grace him with a rude comment, this time. He had returned his attention to his mysterious enchanting.

Oh well. Phineas might as well take a nap now - preferably in another portrait. There would be no more entertainment tonight.


	22. Hic sunt dracones

Sirius walked distractedly toward the kitchen after not eating his breakfast and stopped dead at the door. Evey and Macnair were in there, and they were clearly…occupied. Sirius backed out silently and returned to the seat he'd just vacated in the dining room.

Dolohov was reading the _Daily Prophet_ with a faint scowl creasing his pale, unnaturally youthful face. He looked up when Sirius cleared his throat. "Are Evey and Macnair, um…?" he asked, pointing toward the kitchen.

"Yep," the vampire said with a delighted smile.

"That's odd. I figured, if Evey was going to date one of you, it would be you rather than…" Sirius trailed off, shaking his head. He had no idea why Evey insisted on spending all of her time with the Death Eaters. It was wrong, and he wished that Molly had nagged the girl more and put an end to it before it even began. It was too late now, obviously. "Never mind."

"Yeah, I know, I'm much better-looking," Dolohov said wryly, "but she seems to have a taste for one-armed men who show off their scar-ridden torsos."

Was he trying to be funny? Because nothing about this was amusing. Molly would have a fit when she found out – though Sirius wouldn’t be the one telling her, that was for sure. He’d grown quite accustomed to being alive, and he intended to remain in that condition for a very long time. "Right. Anyway, it's none of my business," Sirius said dismissively. "Better him than you, I suppose," he added under his breath. He realised, too late, that the vampire's enhanced sense of hearing must have picked up the comment.

"As you say," Dolohov concurred with a nod. "She deserves the very best."

"Well, Macnair’s hardly that, but at least he didn't murder anyone I know," Sirius said with a bitter twist of his mouth.

Dolohov frowned slightly and let out a noncommittal grunt.

"I don't understand why Macnair joined Voldemort's side in the first place," Sirius went on. "He seems well-adjusted, for a Death Eater, and he clearly doesn't see Muggle-borns as inferiors – or anyone else, for that matter." He even managed to be polite to Kreacher, somehow. Then again, the cursed little critter worshipped Macnair as if he were Voldemort himself.

"I don’t think Muggle-borns are inferior!" the vampire protested. "And Walden only went over because of me. To keep an eye on me. I hoped that they would let him go when they figured out that he wasn’t there because he believed in their cause, but Voldemort quickly realised that Wal had a knack for dealing and negotiating with magical creatures and beings. He sent him to forge alliances with various species of trolls, with centaurs and giants and merpeople. He even ordered him to approach one of the Great Serpents, the Nāga of the Ganges," he said with a mirthless chuckle.

"The Nāga?" Sirius repeated. He knew little about the Great Serpents – legends and myths were of no interest to him. The very idea that there could be antediluvian dragons of gigantic proportions haunting secluded parts of the world was quite absurd. It seemed that Voldemort had really looked into all sorts of nonsensical drivel to achieve his ultimate goal, to become immortal.

"Now, don't speak the word so disdainfully," Dolohov said chidingly. "There's more truth to the tale than you'd think." He leaned forward slightly. "The Nāga was said to be the only Serpent who still deigns to communicate with humans in any way, although Walden found out that, in living memory and according to the locals, she had made a single appearance in the current century, sometime around 1920. The Serpent had apparently swallowed whole a raft that was crossing the river and caused a flood in the nearby valley, destroying several villages in the process. The village elder Walden talked to said that it happened soon after the infamous dragon massacre of Devkali."

"That's quite a story," Sirius said derisively. Nonsense was what it was. Dragons were sentient, but far from intelligent.

Dolohov went on, oblivious to the fact that Sirius didn’t believe a single word he said. "The elder also claimed that the Nāga understood no language other than Sanskrit. And even if you could speak it, she was as likely to eat you as to talk to you." He spoke animatedly; he clearly enjoyed kiddie tales. "So Wal learned Sanskrit – it took him, what, a week or so – and he simply dove into the water with a Bubble-Head Charm, at the spot where the Serpent had last appeared."

"He learned Sanskrit in a _week_?" Sirius repeated dubiously.

"He's got a gift for learning languages. He speaks…" He trailed off in concentration. "…over three dozen human languages, I'd say, and half as many other dialects employed by magical beasts or beings." He grinned suddenly. "Puts even Dumbledore to shame, doesn't it?" He sounded rather proud. It had been a surprise to find out that the two of them were ‘brothers’ – they had been ahead of him at Hogwarts, and in different Houses besides. Sirius remembered very little about them from back then. Macnair had been trying his best to be invisible, and he was usually found in the library, behind a pile of obscure books, while Dolohov was often on expedition in the kitchens. Neither of them enjoyed Quidditch, and they weren’t part of any clique. Dolohov used to get along with most everyone, Macnair was always alone. They never spent time together, as far as Sirius could remember, and yet the way they behaved now, you’d think they’d always been close.

"Anyway," Dolohov was saying, "the Nāga roused herself from her near-comatose state and agreed to have a little chat." Sirius threw him another sceptical look. "I swear she did! She took him to a cave and they just talked for an hour or so. Walden explained why he'd sought her out, told her about Voldemort and his…request that she assist us in the war." He was silent for a long moment.

When he didn't speak again, Sirius prompted him. Whether any of it was true or not, he'd begun the story, so he might as well finish it. "And? What did she say? I assume that she declined?" If a country-sized dragon had decided to take part in the war, they would have noticed, certainly.

"Actually, she ignored that part entirely. She wanted to know what was happening in the rest of the world, if her Serpent mates had manifested themselves, and she was curious about Walden. She said that he was the first person to ever seek her for purposes other than personal gain, so he explained what I told you, that he was only there because of his idiotic brother," he said wryly. "She said that he'd done the right thing, that family should always come first, but that Walden should – that we both should – get the hell out while we still could. Well, I don't think she used those exact words. But the thing was, we couldn't just quit. It was already too late." He shook his head. "It was too late from the moment I told Augustus that I'd be happy to join them," he murmured sadly.

Macnair stepped into the dining room a moment later, followed by Evey. The Scotsman went upstairs but the girl sat beside Dolohov. "What's wrong?" she asked him with obvious concern.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "You're lucky it wasn't Molly who walked in on you," he went on with a sudden grin that revealed very white teeth. Sirius had asked him why his fangs were never showing, but the vampire claimed that he could let them down whenever he wanted. That didn't fit what Sirius knew of vampires, but if the man could wander around when the sun was up, there was no telling what was accurate or not in the school books.

Evey bit her lower lip, blushing, and glanced at Sirius. "Sorry," she said apologetically.

He gestured awkwardly. “Whatever.” It really wasn't his business. They were both consenting adults, after all. Although Molly would probably not see it that way. She was always babying the girl, as though she was one of her own brood. "Evey," Sirius said in an attempt to change the subject, "a few weeks ago, you mentioned that you wanted to work with Macnair." She nodded eagerly. Apparently, she hadn't found a better career path in the myriad university brochures Molly had brought her. "Is that why you wanted to know how to become an Animagus? I remember you asking me about that during your first days here. I suspect it's an ability that would come in handy in such a job."

"Yes, that was the idea," she admitted. "Why? Have you changed your mind about teaching me how to do it?" she asked hopefully.

Dolohov laughed. "Him? Why don't you just ask Walden, dumpling? Well, that is, provided that he agrees to–"

"Wait, what?” Evey interrupted him. "Walden is an Animagus?"

Sirius frowned at the vampire. If that was the case, they hadn't bothered to let the Order know. And on a side note… Had he just called her 'dumpling'? Merlin, exactly what sort of relationship did the three of them have?

Dolohov appeared confused. "Yeah, of course he is. He didn't tell you?" Evey shook her head.

"He didn't tell _us_ , either," Sirius pointed out sharply.

"Well, to be fair, Dumbledore knows. Not our fault if he chose not to let _you_ know," the vampire countered in the same tone.

Sirius opened his mouth to retort, but Evey was quicker. "Alright, there's no need to make a fuss," she said soothingly. "Is he registered?" she asked Dolohov.

"I doubt it," he told her in a much milder tone. "Registering implies having a Ministry official following the entire ritual, and then regular visits to make certain you’re not abusing your ability. Though I’m not sure how one could abuse being a bear, unless they accuse Walden of poaching salmon-"

"He can turn into a _bear_?" Sirius repeated incredulously at the same time as Evey gasped. Turning into an Animagus was complicated enough when you ended up as an animal smaller than yourself, but the larger the animal, the more difficult it was.

Evey was staring at Dolohov. Macnair returned at that moment and Evey’s head swivelled to face him. "You can turn into a bear!" Her voice was more high-pitched than usual, probably due to her excitement.

Macnair scowled, narrowing his eyes in his brother's direction. "It was an honest mistake," Dolohov said quickly. "I thought she knew. You never said it was a secret."

"Please teach me how to become an Animagus," Evey said to Macnair almost imploringly.

Macnair sighed heavily. "V, it's not that easy. It took me a full year to achieve my first complete transformation, and Transfiguration was always one of my best subjects."

"Yeah, but you're a bear. That's massive. I just want to be a wee fox – well, a vixen. And I _aced_ Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall shed tears of pride when I graduated."

Dolohov snorted. "Right. That sounds just like old Minnie."

Evey gave him a flat look, but she couldn’t suppress a smile. "Wal, at least explain to me how it works, yes? Then I can decide if I want to go through all the trouble or not."

"Merlin, you're stubborn," the large man muttered. "It's just like the apprenticeship, isn't it? You're never going to let this go." It wasn't a question.

"I'll let it go as soon as you agree," she said with a wicked grin.

Macnair rolled his eyes. "Fine. I agree. I'll show you how it works, but not here. Bears don't do well inside houses. It'll have to wait until we're allowed to go back to my place. If you really want to learn, we'll need specific books and ingredients, and we'll need space. As for the job… I don't even know if it's still my job, V. I've been away for almost a year – took all the days off and extra hours I accumulated over the last twenty years – but without a Warden, there will be chaos. They must have appointed someone else in my stead."

"The Ministry employees I talked to said that no one could replace you," Evey said.

"That was in July," Walden pointed out. "And troll mating season is approaching rapidly. If the Ministry doesn't find someone soon, it won't be just chaotic, it'll be a massacre. They go absolutely berserk around April."

"Why are we confined here in the first place?" Evey wondered. "You said that the manor was heavily warded. Why can't we stay there?"

"I suspect that it has less to do with our safety and more to do with keeping an eye on us, piglet," Dolohov told her sweetly.

Well, obviously. Dumbledore was too trusting by far, but he had at least insisted that the two former Death Eaters remain here, where they could be watched. They didn't need spies on top of everything else.

"They'll have to let us go at some point, though. We're no use here," Evey said. "We could help, if we were allowed outside," she added to Sirius.

"You know you're not one of them, right?" Sirius said. "I'm sure Dumbledore would let you out if you promised to be cautious. Well," he amended, "he wouldn't send you on missions for the Order, but you could go to the Muggle shopping centre or to the cinema, I'm sure."

"I'm not going anywhere without them," she retorted matter-of-factly. "And I don't want to go shopping. All I'm saying is that you have three assets at your disposal and you're leaving them to waste away in this mouldy place. No offense," she added quickly.

Sirius snorted. "None taken." Mouldy was a polite euphemism. "Evey, don't you think I want to help, too? That I'm not frustrated at being confined here, in a house that I loathe and that is filled with sad, angry memories? You and Dolohov are here because you're supposed to be dead. I'm sure Voldemort would love to get his hands on Macnair, whom he considers a deserter, and I'm a mass murderer on the run, as far as the world knows." He sighed. "When we decide that those two can be trusted, I suppose that you will all be allowed to return to Macnair's place and to go out at your own risk, but I don't expect that that will happen anytime soon. Not until we find out what Voldemort is planning, certainly. And don't forget that the Lestranges are out, among others. It's just too dangerous at the moment. Believe me, I hate it as much as you do," he told Evey as she tried to speak, "but we're stuck here for a while, like it or not."


	23. The only alternative seems to be doing nothing

Tonks was discussing with Sirius when Evey joined them in the dining room. It was early February, and the first time this year that Tonks had managed to clear an hour to visit her cousin.

"Tonks! Thank Merlin you're here!" Evey exclaimed.

Tonks glanced at her with narrowed eyes. "Alright, what do you need?"

She smiled sheepishly. "A really big favour."

"More presents?" Evey had been desperate to obtain Christmas presents for her new…friends, and she’d been beyond grateful when Tonks had offered to purchase them. Well, Tonks was always happy to help, especially if it was something as easy as going to Diagon Alley or the Muggle shopping centre. Besides, the poor girl must be feeling horrible, stuck here with only a brooding Sirius and two Death Eaters for company.

"Not exactly," Evey said with that same sheepish smile. She took a deep breath. "I need condoms."

Tonks stared at her in shock, mouth slightly ajar, then directed an accusing look at her cousin. "Oi, don't look at me like that!" Sirius said indignantly.

Evey laughed. "Yeah, it's not for him." She sat down across from Tonks. "It’s uncomfortably weird to have to borrow money from the Order for that sort of things, but I’ll pay it all back, I swear." ‘Uncomfortably weird’ was a mild euphemism, in Tonks’s opinion. "It's probably best if you purchase a large amount right away. At least you won't have to buy more every week," Evey added. She sounded much more pragmatic, now that the word was out.

"Did someone say ‘condoms’?" a voice called from the hall. Tonks tensed and held her breath, expecting the portrait of Mrs Black to explode in a cacophony of insults, but it remained blessedly silent.

A tall, lean figure appeared in the doorframe. It was the vampire, Dolohov. Though how much of a vampire he really was, Tonks didn’t know. He ought to be asleep at this hour. He was grinning at Evey, but there was no sharp fang in sight. Tonks had already discussed these peculiar traits with Dumbledore, but the Headmaster had assured her that it was nothing to worry about. "Another present for me, darling?" he added teasingly.

Tonks felt herself blanch as she settled her gaze on Evey once more. No, surely she wasn't…not with _him_! The girl shook her head and let out an amused chuckle when she caught the look on Tonks's face. "Nope, not for him, either. Well, you're running out of possibilities," she told Tonks with a mischievous smile. "A hint: it's not Buckbeak."

Dolohov walked nonchalantly toward them. "It's a shame, really. Kids would make our life here less dull, I'm sure."

"I'm only eighteen, Tony," Evey pointed out with faint irritation.

"Aye, but Walden's not getting any younger," he countered wryly.

Merlin, she was involved with _Macnair_? Granted, he was the only other available man around, but…really? A Death Eater, and one who was twice her age at that? Well, that was hardly fair, coming from Tonks, but Evey was even younger than she was, and Macnair was a bit older than Remus, too.

Tonks turned to Sirius. "Did you know about this?" Crikey, did _Molly_ know? Probably not. Tonks would have heard about it by now, if she did.

Sirius shrugged unconcernedly. "Found out a couple of weeks ago. So what? At least they have something to pass the time," he said bitterly. He was becoming depressed again, now that Harry and the others were gone. Tonks didn't know what she could do to cheer him up, though. She couldn't afford to come by the house often; as an Auror, she was on duty most of the time. She knew that Evey and Molly were doing their best to keep Sirius in good spirits – and to make sure he ate properly – but he was being uncooperative to say the least. Of course, Tonks understood _why_ he was like that. To be cooped up here, in a place he loathed, filled with so many terrible memories, after spending over a decade in Azkaban for a crime he didn't commit… It had to be frustrating, and she was being polite.

Macnair joined them before Tonks could think of a reply. He took them all in with his mismatched eyes and finally settled his gaze on Evey. "Everything alright?" he asked her softly.

The girl blushed furiously and cleared her throat. "Yeah, sure. We were just talking about…Tonks and um…what she's been doing out there." And Tonks had thought that no one could be a worse liar than she was.

Macnair cocked his head sideways, as though he was wondering why Evey was lying to his face, but he apparently decided that it was of no importance to him. He sat down at the table and Kreacher materialised an instant later with a tray brimming with food. It smelled delicious and reminded Tonks that she'd only had a cup of tea for breakfast. The house elf directed a nasty glare toward her after setting down the tray, but he quickly decided that she wasn't worth his time. "Does the Master require anything else?" he asked Macnair in a grovelling voice. Tonks frowned. It was one thing that the elf had decided to put Macnair on a pedestal, and another that he called him 'Master'. He still referred to Sirius as his master, but he certainly didn't act as if it were the case.

Macnair glanced at Evey, who shook her head, then at Sirius, who grimaced. He turned to Tonks. "Want anything? Have you had breakfast already?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I've had some tea," she told him truthfully. Even if the house elf deigned to bring her something to eat, Tonks wasn’t certain that she wanted to ingest it. She glanced at her watch. She was running late already. "I have to go, anyway."

"Good riddance," Kreacher muttered. "The blood traitor has no place in–"

"Thank you, Kreacher, we have everything we need," Macnair interrupted him smoothly. It was obvious that he was used to having house elves around, though he seemed to treat them much more amiably than any other Pure-blood wizard Tonks had ever met – Sirius included. Kreacher departed, grumbling indistinctly under his breath.

Tonks stood up and almost knocked an empty cup off the table in the process, but Sirius caught it. She gave him a grateful smile and assured him that she would come back as soon as she was able. She addressed Evey. "I will get your…um, things…and bring them as soon as I can," she said in a low voice.

"Cheers," the girl whispered. "I owe you, Tonks. If there's anything I can help with…" She trailed off, a wistful expression on her pale face; she knew there was nothing she could do, not from here, no more than Sirius could.

Tonks smiled apologetically. "I'm sure Dumbledore will let you know if there's anything," she said gently. Hopefully, it would all be over before anyone had to involve themselves in overly dangerous activities, but she doubted that it would be the case. Voldemort's Death Eaters and partisans were clearly working on something, possibly on several projects, but the Order was having difficulties obtaining reliable information, what with the Ministry refusing to acknowledge Voldemort's return. The Aurors who were also members of the Order had to work on the side and be extremely cautious.

Dolohov and Macnair had been unable to provide any substantial intelligence; they hadn't been at the cemetery last June, and Macnair had had little contact with other Death Eaters in the years since Voldemort had disappeared. They had, however, been able to confirm or infirm the identities of several suspected Death Eaters or partisans who worked at the Ministry. Tonks and Kingsley had been investigating the matter for months and had already managed to have two of those arrested for reasons other than any involvement with Voldemort.

It was not much, but it was something. In the weeks and months to come, Tonks knew, every scrap of information, every achievement, no matter how small, would count.

* * *

"Alright, what was all that about?" Walden demanded when Tonks had departed and Sirius had disappeared upstairs to sulk.

"V wanted Tonks to get her some condoms," Tony replied slyly before Evey could speak. She threw him a withering glare but felt herself blush at the same time. Blast the man!

"Good idea," Walden said simply. "Should have thought of that before."

"I've been thinking about it a lot, actually, but I couldn't just ask Mrs Weasley, could I?" Evey said. "Remus was there last week, but I didn't dare bring it up. I think he already has suspicions about us…" She trailed off, waving the thought away. "Anyway. The truth is, I don't even know what you people use for birth control."

"Us people?" Tony repeated with a smirk. "No matter how special you may be, pumpkin, you're still a witch. _That_ , we know for certain, at least."

Pumpkin. That was a new one. Since Walden never called her anything cheesy, Tony had taken it upon himself to make up for the lack of ridiculous pet names. It amused him no end, especially when Sirius heard him. The poor man must be imagining wild things regarding what happened in their bedroom at night. Not that wild things didn’t happen in there; it was just that they didn’t involve Antonin.

She felt her cheeks heat up again and sighed with unconcealed exasperation. "What I meant – as I'm sure you understood – was that I have no idea what contraceptive methods are used by girls raised in wizarding households. We didn’t get a Sex Education class at Hogwarts, though Merlin knows, it might have come in handy for some people." Teenagers in heat. Yikes. That last spring break had been particularly… Well, she could talk. She’d spent most of the holidays with George, despite her upcoming NEWTs.

"There are no spells, but a potion exists," Walden explained. "I think nowadays most witches know about the birth control pill that Muggles use, though. It's probably easier to obtain and cheaper, too."

"Condoms are still the most common method of contraception, though, as far as I know. We're not that backward, you know," Tony said with a grin.

"Some of you apparently are," she told him sweetly.

"So," Walden broke in before they could start bickering, "did you learn anything interesting from Tonks, or was it all about the condoms?"

"She didn't stay very long," Evey said defensively. Bloody hell, she should have thought to ask about what was going on. All they had to go by was the _Daily Prophet_ and occasional scraps from Sirius. Remus hadn't told them anything they didn't know, and Mrs Weasley either didn't know anything, or she chose not to share in her knowledge with them.

Walden shrugged. "She probably wouldn't have said anything important, anyway. She doesn’t trust us, and she knows that you would have told us."

"I think she might have let something slip if we’d pestered her a bit," Tony said. "She seems a bit distracted, that one. I wonder how she even became an Auror in the first place."

"By being the incredibly smart and capable witch she is, and by studying hard?" Evey said, arching an eyebrow. Tony seemed to have trouble accepting that women could hold any sort of position that might put them in danger. He still took every opportunity to try to divert her from working with Walden in the future. Honestly, he was worse than Mrs Weasley, sometimes. _Not backward at all_ , Evey thought wryly.

Tony opened his mouth to argue but Walden raised his hands. "Can you quit squabbling for five minutes?" He looked sternly at them both in turn. "Good thing we're getting condoms, because if kids behave anything like you two…"

"Oh no, kids are much worse," Tony said. "But you've already mastered what I call the ‘Molly look’, so it shouldn't be a problem. Evey can be the good cop, you’ll be the bad cop, and I'll be the amazing godfather. I'll put Sirius to shame." He sighed dramatically. "Well, in his present state, it's not much of a feat, admittedly."

"Give him a break," Evey said. "We're all he's got right now, so it's no wonder he's down in the dumps, the poor thing."

"To be fair, he's not trying to be anything _but_ depressed. I mean, we're all stuck here, but do you see me moping about?" Tony asked emphatically.

Evey snorted. "If there had been a cheerleading squad in Azkaban, you would have been leading it. The only times you ever grumble is when I have the last word in an argument."

"Which never happens," Tony cut in happily.

She rolled her eyes. "Besides, your whole family's here. Sirius has no one. Harry is at Hogwarts for another four months, Tonks has been here thrice since I've arrived, and Remus only comes once in a blue moon. Pun intended."

"Merlin, you're hilarious," Tony said flatly. He grinned a second later, though. "Hey, I know what we should do! We should duel. All four of us, you know, to get some practice."

Walden and Evey mulled it over for a moment. "That's actually not a terrible idea," Evey said eventually.

"It might even qualify as a good one," Walden admitted.

"Don't say that! You know how he is. He'll get cocky."

"I’m always cocky," Tony said. He stood up suddenly. "Well then. I’ll, um, let you interrupt Sirius’s daily despairing session to tell him about my brilliant idea and um…I’ll wait for you in the living room. I need to…tidy up a bit." He was out of the room before either of them had time to protest.

"Do you know what he’s doing in there?" Walden asked. "What he’s working on?"

"He promised it was nothing that could explode, but that’s all I know. He’s being more secretive about this than about the Ancients."

Walden shrugged. "Guess we’ll find out when it’s ready. Or when it explodes." Evey arched an eyebrow. "It wouldn’t be the first time. He always assures me that his little projects won’t cause major property damage, but I’ve had to rebuild our garage more times than I can count."

"At least it keeps him busy..." Evey sighed. "Let’s hope Sirius agrees to practicing wth us. He really needs the distraction." Otherwise it would be a matter of weeks before he finally snapped and left the house, against his better judgement. Evey was certain that he would, because she’d contemplated the idea herself. They all had. But to a man who’d spent a third of his life in prison, the appeal of the outside world must be even stronger. It was a wonder that Sirius hadn’t fled on Buckbeak’s back weeks ago. Hopefully, practicing would keep him safely contained at the Headquarters a little while longer.

Besides, Evey, for one, could certainly benefit from duelling practice. She should have thought of that earlier. She’d never duelled against anyone in her life, and she didn’t want to find herself facing Greyback and being completely useless again.


	24. Myths are stories about truths we’ve forgotten

“What about Gráinne Ní Mháille?” Walden said after a moment of consideration.

Evey had tasked him with making a list of all the Muggle historical figures he could think of, provided that they had even the thinnest link to the nicknames that the Ancients used – the ones from the book she’d bought him for Christmas, and the few that Tony had accidentally revealed. Not all of them matched. Presumably, several of the older Ancients had changed their epithets over the course of their long lives, or the world had come up with variants for them. In any case, the author had nineteen names in total – more names than there were Ancients.

“Did you just sneeze?” Evey asked with an arched eyebrow.

Walden glanced at her. “Grace O’Malley?” he said, using the woman’s anglicised name. Evey’s face was blank. “Come on, you’ve never heard of her? Famous Irish pirate lady?” That was a terrible summary of O’Malley’s biography, but he’d learned to remain concise. Evey wasn’t the most patient person.

She patted his arm. “Wal, we’ve been over this. Just because _you_ have heard of someone doesn’t mean they’re famous.” Walden opened his mouth to protest, then clicked it shut. They’d had this argument before; it was pointless to contradict her. His opinion was that she had no historical culture to speak of, but she assured him that she was passionate about history. He could ask Professor Binns for confirmation. But of course, Binns wouldn’t know about Grace O’Malley. She was a Muggle, and she’d had no influence on the wizarding world – which made her a perfect candidate for the Ancient who went by the nickname “The Pirate”.

“Then again,” Evey went on thoughtfully, “there can’t be that many lady pirates, so I guess there’s a good chance you’re right about this...Grace person.” She frowned suddenly. “The Pirate could be a man, though, as the author suggests.” They simply called him “the author” because Evey couldn’t pronounce his name – Wilhelm Vandroogenbroeck, an obscure Dutch historian. Walden had repeated it several times, but she’d given up in frustration. She certainly didn’t have Walden’s knack for picking up languages. “Didn’t Jeanne say that there were two men, other than Tony? Isn’t it more likely? There were tons of famous pirate blokes.”

“Jeanne did say that,” Walden confirmed. “She also said that they were both ugly, but if she finds Tony handsome, I’m not sure we can trust her taste in men.”

“Tony already told me that she fancied you, so don’t play coy with me now, pretty boy,” Evey said with a smirk.

Merlin, would Tony ever learn to keep his bloody mouth shut? Walden flushed, avoiding Evey’s amused gaze. “Jeanne only has one eye. Her eyesight’s probably impaired,” he mumbled. Evey chuckled lightly. “Anyway. Didn’t we agree on the fact that one of the men had to be Vlad Țepeș?”

“I refuse to believe that,” Evey said stubbornly. “It’s just so…predictable. So obvious. It’s _boring_.”

“All myths and legends stem from facts, even Muggle legends. Dracula must have been less secretive than the other Ancients, he must have sparked rumours. And there’s an Ancient called “The Dragon”, which was one of Vlad’s nicknames – that’s where “Dracula” comes from. _Dracul_ , his father’s name, meant _dragon_ in medieval Romanian, and it means _devil_ now. It all fits, V, no matter how disappointing it may be.” He tapped on the book, which lay open between them, notes scribbled all over the margins, while scraps of parchment covered a good portion of the mattress. “Vandroogenbroeck agrees with me.”

Evey rolled her eyes. “He got the Swindler wrong, so I don’t think that we should take everything he writes as the unshakable truth.” She returned her attention to the page they’d been reading.

Another problem with this book, they’d noticed right away, was that Vandroogenbroeck didn’t know what they already knew: that most of the fourteen Ancients were women. His hypotheses for the Pirate, for example, included Edward Teach and Henry Morgan, but there were no mention of female pirates at all. Whatever Evey believed, there had been several famous ones: Ní Mháille, Jeanne de Clisson, Sayyida al Hurra… Walden had come up with quite a few names on this list.

The larger issue, however, was that there was no chronological order for the nicknames. The only thing they knew for certain was that there were three Ancients between Jeanne and Antonin. This…Ripper that Tony had briefly mentioned was most likely the one before last, and Evey seemed convinced that he must be a man – if she was right, and Walden was right about Dracula, then they knew who the two other men were. Though the exact identity of the Ripper would prove complicated to figure out, of course. Provided that it even was _the_ Ripper, as in the infamous 19th century serial murderer. All in all, they really hadn’t made much progress. They couldn’t seem to agree on anything, even things that were obvious to Walden. Like Dracula.

Evey studied Walden’s list of pirate names again. None of them were in the book, since they were all women. “Anne Bonny!” she exclaimed. “I’ve actually heard about her, so she must be more famous than the others.”

Walden sighed inwardly. “It could be any of them, V. Or maybe you’re right, and it’s a man. I don’t know.” Speculating about who the Ancients were was fascinating, but also quite frustrating.

Evey seemed to sense that it was time to move on to the next one. She flipped through the pages, looking for another, hopefully less controversial chapter. “What about the Queen, then? At least we know for certain that she’s a woman.” She perused the options given by Vandroogenbroeck. “I like his suggestion that it might be Marie-Antoinette.”

Walden shook his head. “It’s not impossible, but highly improbable. Marie-Antoinette was a contemporary of Jeanne, remember? I find it unlikely that two Ancients would hail from the same time period and the same country. Besides, Marie-Antoinette was decapitated,” he reminded her.

Evey narrowed her eyes at him. “I may not have your expertise on Muggle history, but I do know _that_.” She exhaled in annoyance. “I see your point, though. It would be…impractical to turn a headless corpse into a vampire, I suppose.”

“Besides,” Walden added, “the Queen has been in charge of recruiting for a while, according to Jeanne. So it would be someone older.”

Evey grabbed another parchment, this one listing all the queens Walden considered famous, and who had lived before the Middle Ages. “Boudicca?” She looked up at him. “Even _I_ know about her,” she said with a crooked smile.

“I certainly like that idea,” Walden said approvingly, ignoring her remark.

Evey sighed. “I wish Tony would give us hints, at least.”

“He won’t. I know he let slip a lot of seemingly major revelations, but he’s just messing with us, I know he is.”

“Of course I am,” Tony said from the doorway. He was clearly holding back laughter. Blast! How long had he been listening and making fun of their assumptions? “You have no idea how entertaining it is, to watch you come up with all these silly ideas. I can’t wait to tell the others whom they’re being mistaken for.”

“You’re not likely to do that,” Walden said. “They’ll kill you if they find out that you’ve revealed their existence to mere mortals.” Tony’s good humour dimmed noticeably.

Evey concealed a yawn behind her hand. “So how did we do today? You must have been listening…”

“You did great!” Tony said encouragingly. “Only twelve more to go.”

“Twelve? But…” Evey paused and gave him a flat look. “Ha, ha. Very funny.”

Tony grinned. “Despair not, my fair maiden! Walden will unmask them all, eventually. He’s a history nerd.”

Walden frowned at the word. Hearing it felt like being back at Hogwarts. In those days, his classmates had called him _nerd_ more often than Walden. “I’m not a bloody nerd,” he grumbled. He simply enjoyed reading about things that other people didn’t appreciate.

“You are,” Evey said apologetically. “Honestly, when Tony said that only famous people were turned, I assumed it meant people like…well, Marie-Antoinette. Nobody knows who Jeanne is, or was, back in her glory days, except you, Wal.”

“But if even one person remembers her, two centuries after her lifetime, then she _is_ famous, no? She’s _someone._ Fame is not only about Hollywood hunks, ye ken.”

Evey smiled delightedly. He almost never let his Scottish accent seep into his speech, but he knew that Evey loved it when he did, though he had no idea why. Merlin knew, he’d had enough trouble getting rid of it. Back at Hogwarts, when Walden wasn’t being called a nerd, people were usually mimicking his accent – badly so, but it made everyone laugh nonetheless. In his third year, he’d decided to do something about it, and had begun to learn foreign languages over the holidays. By his fifth year, he only had a trace of accent left.

“I ken,” Evey acknowledged. Thankfully, she never tried to imitate the accent, though she liked to place the odd Scottish word here and there. “But still. You know I’m right.”

Walden groaned in frustration. “It’s not my fault if everyone is as uneducated as you two.”

“Oi!” Tony protested. “I know exactly who the Ancients are, thank you very much.”

“You know their _names_ ,” Walden said. “But do you know who they were, beyond what their nicknames give away?”

“Of course I bloody well do,” he mumbled. “Mandatory history lessons were included in the Ancient package. Jeanne’s maker’s maker insisted.”

“Her maker’s maker?” Evey repeated with a scoff. “Seriously, Tony. Names would be a lot easier. Or at least use their nicknames, why don’t you? For instance, which one is Jeanne’s maker, and which one-”

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. Evey batted her eyelashes at him, and he smiled indulgently. “Brother, your lady love is making eyes at me. But it won’t work,” he told Evey with mock severity.

“What if I do it?” Walden asked, imitating Evey as best he could, which only resulted in him blinking rapidly like an idiot. How did women do that? Was it an innate ability that men simply weren’t meant to master? Tony nearly choked on his laughter.

Evey smiled at him fondly. “A for effort.” She turned to Tony. “Alright, here’s a question that doesn’t pertain to the Ancients’ identities, but to which only you may know the answer. If the Ancients are real… Does that mean that the Elders exist, too?” They both frowned at her. “You know, the immortal werewolves, from the same tales as the Ancients?”

“Oh. Well, a year ago, I would have laughed in your face at the idea, but with what we know now…” Tony shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I guess.”

“There are no books about them,” Evey said. “I mean, many historians have speculated about the identity of the Ancients, but I’ve never heard of an equivalent regarding the werewolves.”

“Maybe they’ve been more discreet than us?” Tony suggested. “The only mention of them is in the kiddie tales, as far as I know. Jeanne didn’t say anything on the subject, so maybe they're made-up.”

“Or they’ve infiltrated our world so well that we don’t even know that they’re amongst us,” Walden said.

“You sound like one of those Muggle lunatics who believe that aliens infiltrated society ages ago and are controlling us,” Tony said jokingly.

Walden shrugged. “I’m just saying, it’s a possibility. I mean, if not for you, we wouldn’t know about the Ancients, not for certain, anyway.”

“Seriously?” Evey cut in. “Months ago you refused to believe that I’d been bitten by a werewolf, and now you’re the one coming up with _this_?”

He gave her a bashful grin. “A lot has changed since then, V. You’ve quite thoroughly upended everything I believed in. Which is a good thing,” he added quickly. “But Tony’s right. Anything’s possible.”

“Are there ‘famous’ personalities who could be immortal werewolves in disguise?” Evey wondered thoughtfully. “People like Dracula, but who were rumoured to turn into a wolf instead of a bat?”

“Vlad can turn into a wolf too, or any other-” Tony began to say. He abruptly clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening in horror. For once, it didn’t appear faked at all. Evey and Walden exchanged a surprised look. They hadn’t even been _trying_ to trick him into revealing information!

Walden couldn’t help a smug smile. “Told you.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Evey muttered. She brightened a moment later, however, and turned to Tony again, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Well then. Eleven to go.”


	25. Comfortably numb

Early in May, Evey was reclining against Walden as they watched _Jurassic Park_ for the umpteenth time. Tony was sprawled on the other bed, seemingly transfixed by the screen. Evey didn’t think he’d blinked in over an hour.

There was a knock on the door, and they all sighed in annoyance. It wasn't that they had to interrupt their viewing – they knew the film by heart – but it seemed that the less they did all day, the less they wanted to do. Practicing with Sirius only kept them occupied for an hour or so every day.

When she saw that Tony remained stubbornly in place, Evey stood up and went to open the door. It was George and Fred.

Her eyes widened in surprise as they both grinned at her. "Hello there," they greeted her at the same time. How did they manage to be so synchronised? It had always amazed her. It was as though they were using telepathy.

"Hi," she replied uncertainly. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"We just escaped from Hogwarts in the most glorious way imaginable," Fred explained brightly. He looked incredibly smug; they both did, in fact. "Well, it's not really Hogwarts we were fleeing from, so much as the pink-attired toad that now has custody of the place. Did we mention her before?"

Evey laughed. "Yeah, I think you might have, once or twice." They had all complained loudly about Dolores Umbridge, who had overtaken the school. Somehow, she had even managed to become Headmistress.

Walden had joined her by the door. "What's going on? Trouble at Hogwarts again?" They’d heard recently that Umbridge had attempted to arrest Dumbledore. He had eluded the Ministry officials and was now in hiding, although Evey hadn't seen him at the Headquarters.

"No more than usual," Fred said with a shrug. "But it was becoming unbearable. You wouldn't believe the things she's done, and it's gotten worse since Dumbledore abandoned us."

"He didn't abandon you," Evey told him chidingly. "He didn't have much choice, did he?"

It was George's turn to shrug. "Maybe. But still, we're glad to be out of there."

"But what are you going to do? You won't finish your studies at all?" Evey asked them with a frown.

"No, Mum, we won't," Fred said teasingly. "But fear not: we have a plan. Well, it's more than a plan. Everything is in order, or near enough. We've been thinking about this for a while, see. We had initially decided to wait until the end of the year, but given the circumstances…" He trailed off with a smile, obviously expecting her to ask what he was talking about.

"Fine, I'll bite," Evey said exasperatedly. “What’s the plan?”

"We're going to open a joke shop," George told her very seriously.

"In Diagon Alley," Fred added.

Tony had joined them by the door as well. "A joke shop? That's nice," he commented.

"We don't need your approval, bloodsucker," George said with a grimace.

"Ah, come on. Don't be like that," Evey said with a rueful sigh. Tony’s face hardened, but he went back inside the bedroom without another word.

She often thought back on what George had said, back in July. How would Evey react if Greyback decided to join the Order, and was accepted? She had no reason to believe that Dumbledore would refuse – according to him, everyone deserved a second chance. The remark had outraged her, especially coming from George, but he did have a point. Antonin – and Walden, though the twins didn’t know that – were responsible for the death of their uncles. Fabian and Gideon Prewett hadn’t been killed in cold blood, not like Evey’s family, but what difference did it really make? The result was the same.

How would she feel if she were in their situation? She didn’t think that she could live at Grimmauld place if Greyback joined them. She wasn’t even certain that she could refrain from killing him. Preferably slowly and painfully.

She shook her head, dispelling the unbidden images that always accompanied mentions of the werewolf, and returned her attention to the conversation. "But um, guys… Don't take this the wrong way, but with what money are you going to open a shop in Diagon Alley?" It had to be one of the most expensive areas in London to rent a concession.

Fred's smile was back, brighter than ever. "Oh, don't worry. We've got that part covered."

"We have a secret investor," George whispered mysteriously.

Evey rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. Keep your secrets. Does your mother know about any of this?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Fred's smile didn't look as steady as before. "We've only just escaped,” he complained. “We thought we'd come by and say hi before we did anything…unpleasant."

“Merlin knows, the past few months were unpleasant enough,” George said.

Evey smirked. "I see. Well, this should be fun. I hope you'll consider allowing me to be there when you tell her. I’ll bring some popcorn."

George groaned. "We're _adults_ , for Merlin's sake. She can't really stop us, can she?” He glanced at his brother, who shrugged. “Anyway, everything is ready. We'll be opening soon."

"And we know you're not allowed outside, so we brought you a few samples," Fred said enthusiastically. He picked up the box that lay at his feet. "Here. On the house," he told her with a wink. It overflowed with all sorts of brightly coloured gadgets. Several objects chimed and clanged as Evey took the box.

"So…" George went on, "that means we're both free from school, at long last. We're entering adult life in earnest. Nothing holding us back now." He looked Evey in the eyes. He wasn't talking about himself and his brother anymore.

"George…" She glanced at Walden. He nodded in understanding, took the box from her, and went inside the room to give them some privacy. Evey turned back to George. "I'm with him," she said quietly.

The stunned expression on the twins’ faces was almost comical. "You’re _dating_ Macnair?” Evey nodded. “But he's a thousand years old!" George exclaimed. She thought she heard Tony chuckle.

"He's got scars everywhere!" Fred added.

"Not _everywhere_ ," she corrected him with a crooked smile.

"Merlin's purulent boils," George muttered darkly. "Did it have to be _him_? I mean, he's better than the vampire, but still…"

"Yes, it had to be. It was fated," Evey said dramatically. "Look, I'm sorry, but I thought it was obvious that we weren't getting back together, George. I'm happy, if it's any consolation," she added hesitantly.

"I guess," George grumbled.

There was an awkward silence. Fred cleared his throat. "Well, we wouldn't want to keep you off each other for too long," he said wryly. "We have much to do," he added with a meaningful glance directed at his brother.

George nodded. "We should go. Er…don't tell anyone we were here, alright? They must have notified mum already, but we'll talk to her tonight, when we've had time to…prepare ourselves. Psychologically."

"I doubt Sirius will care, and there's no one else we could tell. We haven't seen anyone in two weeks, actually, not since that business with Dumbledore," Evey explained. She didn't mind, personally, but Sirius was becoming gloomier by the day. If anyone could benefit from a visit at a joke shop, it was certainly him.

"We'll see you soon, in any case," Fred said. "They'll have to accept us in the Order, now, and it’s about time."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," Evey said. Mrs Weasley wouldn’t hear anything about Evey going on missions for the Order, and she was older than the twins. "The shop should keep you busy, though. Good luck with that."

When they were gone, Evey settled back on the bed with Walden. "I wish _something_ would happen. Anything. I'm getting restless."

"We all are, cupcake," Tony said.

"I don't want to fight, not really, but doing nothing, the endless waiting, it's killing me," she went on. "Why aren't they making a move? Do you think Umbridge is a Death Eater?" she asked with a frown.

"Nah, I doubt it. A partisan, possibly, but I don't think she's acting on orders. Most likely, she's just a loony, power-hungry bitch," Tony said conversationally.

"Oi, watch your tongue," Walden muttered. How adorable. His daily average of expletives was sky-high, but some words were off-limits, apparently. "I agree about Umbridge, but just because we haven't heard anything means they're not up to something. Besides, the Order doesn't exactly keep us in the loop."

"I wish they'd let us help, at least," Evey said. "We could spy on people, or things like that."

"I'm sure we'd be great spies, sweetheart, but the Order doesn’t know that we can turn invisible at will. So, unless you'd like to explain to them why you can…" Tony said. Evey shook her head firmly. "Molly won't ever let you out of here if she believes that there's any chance you might be in danger, anyway." He paused. "I'm afraid you will grow old and die here. Would you like to be buried in the backyard?"

Evey sighed in frustration. "But it's ridiculous! We're _all_ in danger, whether we participate actively or not. And I want to be cremated, actually," she added as an afterthought. Someone ought to know, just in case.

"Alright, alright. Let's not talk about dying just yet," Walden cut in. "Voldemort won't delay indefinitely. Getting rid of Dumbledore, and likely Harry too, must be his priority. When he's gathered his forces, he will reveal himself publicly and attack the Order in earnest."

"Or he'll come at us in the sneakiest way you could imagine, which would be even worse," Tony muttered.


	26. Your stunned silence is very reassuring

They were having their daily duelling session when Tonks walked into the living room. The room had been cleared of all furniture for that purpose, and Dolohov had relocated his…workshop to an unused storage room, somewhere on the third floor.

"Everything alright in here?" Tonks asked Sirius. His cousin had selected a bright orange for her pixie haircut that day. There was no trace of her usual smile and good humour; she was frowning, and she had her wand out, Sirius realised.

Panting slightly, he made a soothing gesture. "Yeah, we're just practising a bit. Been doing that for some time now."

"Oh," Tonks said uncertainly. "I see." She lowered her wand a fraction, but all she probably saw was that Evey was sprawled in a corner, having been hit by a Stunner a few seconds ago. Macnair had a bleeding gash on his eyebrow arch and Sirius himself thought he had a broken rib, thanks to Evey, though he had no idea how she’d managed to do that – and neither did she. The girl wasn’t very good at duelling. Dolohov, as usual, was in pristine condition. Sirius sometimes wondered if the hexes affected him at all, when anyone actually managed to hit him. His reflexes were annoyingly fast.

" _Rennervate_ ," Macnair muttered in Evey’s direction.

Evey stood up groggily and smiled when she noticed the newcomer. "Wotcher, Tonks."

"I think that'll be all for today," Sirius said, wincing as he took a step forward.

Tonks noticed. “Are you hurt? Do you need healing?”

“I think Evey cracked one of my ribs,” he explained.

Tonks scowled at the girl, who flushed. “I’m sorry! I’m usually good at wandless magic, but offensive spells are more complicated than the rest. I’m still struggling to adjust their potency. I’m so sorry, Sirius,” she repeated, biting her lower lip in embarrassment.

“It’s alright,” Sirius said. “It’s easily fixed.” He eyed Tonks dubiously and lowered his voice. “You can fix this, right?”

“Sure. Aurors receive a first-aid class.” She hesitated. “It wasn’t my strongest skill, though, if I’m being honest.” Sirius gulped reflexively, but Tonks pointed her wand toward his side and muttered an incantation before he could stop her. Instantly, the pain subsided.

Sirius made a few tentative moves, then smiled gratefully. "Much better, thank you. Do you want some tea?"

Tonks nodded, and they made their way to the dining room with Evey following on their heels. "Wait there for a minute," the girl said over her shoulder to the other men. Macnair and Dolohov exchanged a puzzled glance but complied with a shrug.

Evey sat beside Tonks while Sirius put some water to boil in the kitchen. He was just close enough that he could hear what the girls were discussing. "I hate to bother you again, but-" Evey began to say.

"You've run out? _Already_?" Tonks exclaimed, clearly shocked.

"No, no! Um, well, that is, we'll probably need more soon, but that's not what I wanted to ask," Evey went on quickly. "They have their birthdays soon – they were born a day apart, how cute is that? – and I was wondering if you could go shopping for me again? I'm really sorry to bother you with this, you know. Believe me, I'd much rather go myself. Or send someone who has nothing better to do, at least."

Sirius heard Tonks sigh. "It's fine, Evey. I don't mind. Just tell me what you need."

The kettle began to whistle at that moment, so Sirius didn't catch the rest. When he stepped into the dining room a minute later with the tea, Evey had apparently gone upstairs, but Macnair and Dolohov had joined Tonks at the table. The three of them were talking in low voices. "What's with all the secrecy?" Sirius asked with a faint scowl.

His cousin gave him a small smile. "Evey was quick enough to mention their birthdays, but she didn't say that hers was the next day."

* * *

Walden woke up early on the thirteenth of May – his birthday, he remembered a moment later. Merlin, he was _thirty-nine_. In just a year, he would be–

Nope. Better not to think about that.

Evey wasn't in the bed, he realised suddenly. That was odd. She always slept late. As he sat up and looked around the room, he saw that he was alone. _Bloody hell. Please tell me they didn't plan a whole thing to celebrate_ , he thought, feeling uncomfortable. He hated birthday parties. He hated being the centre of attention.

He hated getting old.

With a reluctant sigh, he stood and walked to the bathroom. He showered leisurely, and spent the usual amount of time dressing himself. He was getting better at it, but he still kept forgetting that he only had one arm, sometimes, all the more if he was distracted. He decided to put on a shirt, just in case there were other people downstairs. Before he was done with all the buttons, however, the door opened slowly. Walden turned to see Evey walk in, carrying a large box that she placed on the floor at his feet.

"Hey," she said with a bright smile. She stepped around the box to close the distance between them and put her hands on his half-buttoned shirt. "Don't worry," she told him without preamble, "there's no surprise party waiting for you in the dining room." Walden relaxed at once, and Evey finished buttoning his shirt. "Can I at least wish you a happy birthday?"

"Must you?" he grumbled in reply.

She chuckled. "Should I take the present back too, or…?" she said nonchalantly.

"I'm going to be a real twat and say that it depends what the present is," Walden said with a small grin.

"Fair enough. I'll give it to someone else if you don't like it. And by that I mean that I’ll keep it to myself." She pointed at the box. “Go on, then.”

"A box! You shouldn't have.”

"You'd better open it," she said mysteriously.

Walden complied good-naturedly, suddenly curious, then stared at Evey in shock. "What? You don't like it? Are you allergic or something?" she asked worriedly. "Gods, Tonks is going to kill me."

"No, no, it's fine. It's perfect. I just… It's unexpected." That was a euphemism. In the box, the puppy was utterly quiet and was observing him with keen interest.

Evey sighed with relief as Walden petted the dog, then crouched beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "She's cute, right?"

"Aye. Newfoundland?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure that Tonks could get one, especially on such short notice, but luckily a colleague of hers knew a bloke, who knew another bloke."

Walden picked up the puppy cautiously. She didn't protest but started licking his face the moment she was close enough. "Aw hell. You found my Kryptonite."

Evey laughed. "I know the current environment is not ideal for a dog, but they're supposed to be calm and they don't require too much exercise. We can just walk her around the backyard. We won't be living here forever, anyway."

"Hopefully not."

"And they're great with other animals,” Evey went on, “including magical creatures, apparently.”

"Aye, they are. I've often thought about getting one, in truth, but with the job…" He shrugged. "V, this is amazing. _You_ are amazing." He turned to kiss her but she moved away.

"Nope, not right now, thank you," she said amusedly. "What are you going to call her?"

"Nana. Or is that too obvious?" That was the kids' nurse in JM Barrie's _Peter Pan_.

"It's brilliant. I love it," Evey said with a smile.

"And I love _you_ ," Walden said.

* * *

"Come on! You've finished your breakfast. Can I have my present now?" Tony asked almost pleadingly. If Walden had received a puppy, there was no telling what he might get. His brother was outside now, playing with the dog. Well, the dog _s_. Sirius was with them, although in human form.

"Merlin, you're like a little kid," Evey muttered. "And what makes you think I got you anything?"

Tony snorted. "You couldn't help yourself. Come on!" he insisted.

Evey sighed heavily, but he could see that she wanted to smile. Oh, this was going to be good. "Alright, fine." She paused in a clear attempt to sustain the mystery a little while longer. "The thing is," she went on eventually, "I knew exactly what you wanted, but given the circumstances-"

"What I really want is a woman,” Tony cut her off. “Or several women. Preferably at the same time. But that's probably not what you had in mind."

"That's exactly what I had in mind," Evey told him deadpan.

That brought him up short. "It is?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but as I was saying, given our current situation, bringing anyone here would be a problem." She flashed him a sudden grin. "So you'll have to go to them."

"I don't-" he began to say, confused now.

"You've been cleared to get out of the house," Evey explained smugly. "Just for today, mind. And you have to be cautious, and avoid places where you might be recognised. So…you can’t go to Diagon Alley. Or Knockturn Alley. Or any magical alley."

Tony stared at her in astonishment. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Evey shrugged. "I presented all the right arguments.” That was a tenuous explanation but, to be fair, he didn’t really care how she’d accomplished it. “Oh, and you can't feed, either,” she added. “But I doubt you were going to, anyway."

"Furthest thing on my mind right now," Tony said dreamily. He could go _outside_? The entire day? Alone, with no retinue? That was worth a thousand puppies. He leaned forward and crushed Evey in a tight hug. "My hero," he whispered. He felt her laugh. "Do I have to be back before midnight?"

She pushed him away with all the might of a sparrow. "No, Cinderella," she said teasingly, "this time you can stay the night. Just be back before lunch tomorrow, alright?"

"Of course. Wouldn't want to miss _your_ birthday," he said. "This time we got you presents, too," he added with a mischievous grin. Evey eyed him suspiciously but made no comment. "By the way," he went on as the thought struck him, "how come I can go out and not Sirius? Surely they trust him more than they trust me."

"Well, you're supposed to be dead. Even Voldemort thinks so, as far as we know. Sirius is a criminal on the run and everyone's actively looking for him, thanks to the _Daily Prophet_ ," Evey explained with a grimace of distaste at the mention of the newspaper. "No one has any reason to think _you_ might be out there. Even if someone recognised you, though it’s unlikely, considering how improbably youthful you look, they would assume that they're mistaken. But still, be careful, and _discreet_ , alright? I vouched for you."

Tony glanced at the grandfather clock. It was almost nine. "Is there a specific time for me to leave or…?"

"Go right ahead," Evey said with a laugh.

He blew her a kiss before departing.

* * *

Evey sat staring at her present for a long moment without daring to speak. She could feel that Walden was anxiously awaiting a reaction, pacing in front of her, but she simply couldn't think of anything to say. It was another minute before she gathered her wits.

"A ring," she finally managed to articulate. "You got me a ring."

Walden sat down beside her. "It doesn't have to be _that_ sort of ring," he said quickly. "I had no idea what to give you, V. I'm terrible at this. Tonks suggested jewellery, and I took her advice. Although, now that I think about it, she did look doubtful when I told her to purchase a ring. But it doesn't have to be a marriage proposal," he repeated earnestly. "It can just be a ring. You like it?" he added nervously.

Of course she liked it. It was gorgeous. It wasn't gaudy at all, a simple, delicate gold band with half a dozen tiny scintillating emeralds incrusted on top. "Wal, it's perfect. I love it, I really do," she assured him. "It's just… Look, either you ask me or you don't, but now I don't know what to think, and it's killing me. Do _you_ want to get married?" She looked up at him uncertainly. They had never discussed marriage, not seriously anyway. Tony was always joking about it, but it had never occurred to her that Walden might consider it. They had only been dating for four and a half months, after all.

Now that her brain was functioning again, though, Evey realised that it didn’t matter how long they’d known each other. She loved Walden, and she couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. She was fairly certain that he was her soul mate, if such things existed, and in a world where magic was real, it was entirely plausible.

If Walden felt the same way about her…

"Yes," he replied without missing a beat. "I do. Not here, though. Not now. But when we get out of here…" He placed his hand over hers. "Yes. I would very much like to marry you."

She smiled at him. She felt almost dizzy with happiness. "Then my answer is also yes."

As Walden leaned forward to kiss her, there was a loud knock. "Oh, for pity's sake," Evey muttered. "He always has the worst possible timing." Walden nodded in agreement as he stood up to open the door.

"You done with that cheap thingy? Because the real present is here," Tony announced. He walked up to Evey without waiting for Walden's invitation and handed her a badly gift-wrapped package. "You deserve so much more than that, piglet, but it's all I could come up with on such short notice," he said apologetically.

Evey frowned up at him, wondering why he was being so uncharacteristically serious. She unwrapped the package carefully, half-expecting a trick, possibly something that might blow up in her face.

It didn't explode. It was a photo album, one that Evey recognised right away. It was one of her mother's, she knew, and it was full of pictures of family vacations from when Matt and Evey were kids.

_Fuck._ As if the previous moment hadn’t been emotional enough. "Thanks, but I'm going to cry now," she warned them just as the tears began to spill from her eyes.

"Yes, I thought you might," Tony said matter-of-factly as he sat down beside her and put an arm around her.

* * *

"So you went by my house?" Evey asked Antonin some time later, when she'd stopped sobbing. Tony felt awful for making her cry like that, but she did seem happy about her present, at least. Nana was in her lap, and Evey was idly scratching the puppy behind the ears. "Dumbledore promised that it would be kept as it was until I was able to reclaim it." Tony sat on her right and Walden was on her other side, with his hand on her back.

"I did. It's been…cleaned up, but otherwise I suspect it's just as you left it. They put several wards on the place and some minor Muggle-repellent charms to prevent anyone from entering. As far as the Muggles are concerned, it is to be kept as it is until the 'investigation' is over." Tony sighed. "I wanted to grab more stuff, but I wasn't sure what else to take."

"Don't worry, it's fine. I'm glad I got the album. I just…" She put her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't believe I never thought of this before, but I have no idea what they did with…with the bodies," she said weakly.

"They were cremated," Tony told her softly. "I met one of your former neighbours. I wasn't going to linger, but she practically held me down until she had explained everything she knew."

"Yeah, I know the one," Evey said flatly. "The neighbourhood's blabbermouth, Miss Chatwin."

"Uh-huh. She said they were cremated and that the ashes were scattered in the town's cemetery. And, well, obviously she believes you’re dead, too. I asked if she'd seen anyone prowling the area, but she was adamant that there hadn't been anyone near the house since the Muggle police left. She seemed quite certain, so I assume she keeps watch," he said disdainfully. He glanced at Evey. She still looked sad. Tony had known that it would be an emotional moment, but it was her birthday, for Merlin's sake. He decided to change the subject and pointed to her hand. "Shiny," he commented.

She smiled delightedly, and he felt relieved. He hadn’t completely ruined her big day. "Oh yes, about that," she said. "Looks like we will need a wedding planner after all."

Tony turned to her, startled, then leaned forward to gaze at his brother. "You _proposed_? You said it was just a birthday present!" he said indignantly. He couldn’t believe he’d missed this!

"Well, it was," Walden said defensively.

"And then it wasn't," Evey said with a grin. "So… Do we need to ask Kreacher, or…?"

"Kreacher?" Tony repeated with mock horror. "Of course I'll do it." He paused. "Actually, there won't be much to do. It's already planned in my head, down to the last painstaking detail. You'll just need to pick a date and invite some people, I suppose. Oh, and you'll require food. I forgot about that."

They laughed, and then Evey insisted on showing them the photos from the album. Tony realised that she’d almost never mentioned her family before, except in passing. He and Walden knew practically nothing about them. To be fair, Evey had always avoided the subject – probably because she knew that she would break down if she started talking about them. She had apparently emptied her tears reservoir for the day, however, and she spent the rest of the day telling them family anecdotes.

In the end, Tony decided that it’d been worth making her cry a bit. The way she spoke, it was obvious that she’d been keeping all of this bottled up inside her for too long. She needed this.

Maybe it would do him good to share his own feelings, some day – about being immortal, about how the Dementors at Azkaban had nearly driven him insane with guilt, and how difficult returning to the world had been for him.

But not today. Today was Evey’s day.


	27. Such shallow, mortal whims

It had been a long time since Evey had been plagued with nightmares, but she'd woken up in the middle of the night after reliving her brother's final moments. What an odd moment to dream about this, just after Walden and she had decided to get married, just when she was finally allowing herself to be happy again.

She had disentangled herself from Walden and left the room as quietly as she could, then she’d joined Tony in the dining room. He looked uncharacteristically mopey. There was cup of coffee in front of him, but it was full. He claimed that he missed the smell almost as much as the taste, and since everybody drank tea, he sometimes made himself a cup and _sniffed_ it, which had caused Sirius to give him odd looks.

There was no way that no member of the Order had yet realised that Tony was different from regular vampires. He wasn’t even _trying_ to appear as one.

"Hey," she said as she approached him, "are you alright?"

Tony grumbled something inaudible in reply.

"I don't remember ever seeing you like that," Evey went on as she pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. "Did something happen during your little…jaunt outside?" He hadn't talked about it at all, which was rather surprising. Walden said that Tony used to tell him everything – in almost painful detail – about his personal life. Which was mostly his sex life.

"It was fine," he mumbled.

"I take it your dream day didn't go on as planned?" she prodded him. "No voluptuous blonde would have you? Or did she refuse to share you with others?" Evey couldn't understand why people would want more than one lover at a time, but to each their own, she supposed.

Tony sighed heavily. "It was only nine o’clock when I left, so I figured it was a little early for that sort of activities. I went over to the estate to check on the house elves and make sure everything was in order.”

Evey frowned. “Elves? I thought there was only one. Caraid?”

“Walden hired a younger one before we left. He was afraid to leave Caraid alone, old as he is. They seemed to be doing well without us, so I didn’t stay long.”

“Afterward I went to your place, like I said,” he went on, “and that creepy old lady held me there for almost an hour, until she said she had to meet a friend for lunch. I went shopping after that. I never imagined how much shopping centres could change in fifteen years. I visited every boutique I saw and I cursed myself for not waiting long enough to ask for some Muggle money before I left in the morning. I assumed you'd be in trouble if I visited Gringotts, so I didn't."

"You could have just come back here to grab some money," Evey pointed out. "Sirius wouldn’t have minded, and I never said you were forbidden to return until the next day."

Tony shrugged. "I know, I know. I just didn't want to lose any time outside." He passed a hand through his hair – it seemed he'd been doing that a lot that night; it was quite tousled. "I lost track of time, I guess. Before I knew what was happening they were announcing that the stores would be closing in a few minutes. I thought it was about time I started looking for potential candidates with whom to spend the night." Potential candidates. _C _lassy__ , Evey thought amusedly.

"I went to a pub," Tony went on obliviously. "A fancy one. I sat facing the entrance so I could watch people come and go discreetly, but then I spotted that girl across the bar from me. She looked annoyed, so I assumed she'd been stood up. I sent her a drink, and she smiled, but the bartender said she’d declined, because she was expecting someone. So I waited. I don't know why I didn't look for someone else or just go to another place. She was… Hell, I don't know." He shook his head. "An hour later, she was still there, alone, so I offered to buy her another drink, and this time she accepted it and came to sit with me. We talked for a long time, then she asked me if I'd already eaten. The bloke she was supposed to meet had promised her dinner, so we went to the Italian restaurant."

"You said you didn't have any money," Evey said with a frown. "How did you even pay for the drinks? And I thought you couldn't drink or eat, by the way."

"I can't. I just ordered a couple of cheap beers and slowly emptied the glasses with a nonverbal spell. And I…well, I didn't pay,” he admitted sheepishly. “Before we left the pub, I patted myself and pretended to have forgotten my wallet." He glanced at Evey. "I know, it's terrible. But what was I supposed to do? I couldn't just steal the money from someone else. That would have been worse, right? Anyway, she just laughed, and she paid for all the drinks, and then she even bought me dinner. She said she was damned if she was going to spend the evening alone. We really hit it off, you know?"

"What's her name?" Evey asked curiously.

"Natalie," he replied with a genuine smile. Damn, he looked smitten. What had the woman done to him? "She's a nurse. Works the night shifts. It was her week off." He paused and glanced at her again, as if wondering how much he should tell her. "See, the thing is, I had to come up with a story. She was a Muggle, so I couldn't tell her that I was an outlawed vampire who lives in a world of magic," he went on with a smirk.

“Even if she’d been a witch, you couldn’t have told her that,” Evey said. “In fact, if she’d been a witch, you shouldn’t have talked to her at all.”

"Exactly. Anyway. I needed a plausible backstory for myself. So I told her I'd just spent a few years working in a research station in Antarctica."

Evey burst out laughing. "And she bought it?" Well, to be fair, Tony’s skin tone matched that of someone who'd spent plenty of time in the southernmost continent. All in all, it was a good enough explanation, except for the fact that it was perhaps a bit…far-fetched.

"I thought she did. She asked tons of questions, and I always came up with something perfectly coherent in reply. After dinner, she said that we should have a last drink at her place. That was clear enough," he said matter-of-factly, "but all of a sudden I felt bad about lying to her. She was so nice, you know, and she'd just paid for an entire meal that I hadn't even touched. So I came clean – partially, anyway,” he added quickly when Evey narrowed her eyes at him. “I told her I'd been in prison." He let out a small laugh. "And she said _'Yeah, I figured, but I liked the Antarctica story better. Sounds like you put a lot of work into it. That deserves some reward_.' And next thing I know she was kissing me. So we ended up in her tiny flat, but I'll spare you the details. Unless you want to hear them?" Tony asked Evey with an exaggerated leer.

Evey shook her head vigorously. "Nope.” She leaned forward. “I just don't get why you look so dejected, if you had such an amazing day – and night," she added slyly.

Tony sobered up at that. "I don't know exactly."

"You can see Natalie again when we're out of here, if that's what's bothering you," Evey said.

"But that's the thing. I can't," he said miserably.

"Why not?" she asked with a frown. "You didn’t drain her, right? Tony-”

“Come on, give me some credit. I feed more often than most Ancients. If I don’t watch it, I might actually put on some weight. Seriously, V, I wasn’t even tempted to bite her. Even in the middle of-”

Evey raised a hand. “Alright, alright. I trust you. But why can’t you see her again, then? Is there a rule against Ancients dating Muggles?"

"There are no rules about dating. But we're not supposed to tell anyone who we are, remember? How can I engage in any sort of lasting relationship, knowing that I’m lying to their face every moment of every day? Knowing that they will die and I won't?"

Oh, _that_ was what was bothering him. Being immortal. How ironic, considering that immortality was precisely what Voldemort sought to achieve. "Tony," Evey told him gently, "we're all going to die eventually. You'll just have to get used to it. You can't live your everlasting life without getting attached to anyone for fear of losing them in the end. If you do that, the loneliness will kill you inside. You have to accept that most people you know are mortal. But I'm sure losing them – us – will get easier, with time," she added reasonably.

"But how would I explain to them that I don't age, if I can't tell them what I am? And even if I did tell them," he went on, "how can I expect them to be with me, knowing that I can't have children, can't have any sort of normal life?"

_The Ancients can’t have children?_ Evey hadn’t known that. "That's something you'll have to figure out as it comes, I suspect. Why don't you just ask Jeanne or the others how they handle these things? It must have been difficult for them, too, especially considering that they were Muggles, originally."

"I guess you're right," Tony said reluctantly. "Although I doubt most of them had trouble adjusting. They're a peculiar lot, you know. Some are seriously deranged. I wonder why they were even turned. Jeanne herself is quite crazy. She's not the type to fret over mere mortals – and yes, that's what she calls you people. What most of them call you."

"Well, that's what we are," Evey conceded pragmatically. "Maybe you should focus on those who still see us as humans, not as cattle," she added wryly.

"The older ones tend to be more compassionate. Yeah, I should talk to them, I suppose. It's just… They're a bit intimidating, if I'm being honest. They're so fucking _old_. Thousands of years old. They're like living fragments of history, and I’m just…me."

That was precisely why Walden and Evey were trying to puzzle out who the Ancients were. Should she try to trick Tony into revealing more information, while he was distracted? No. Bad idea. He wasn’t simply distracted; he was genuinely perturbed. "I can imagine. But you're one of them, aren't you? They ought to be nice to you. And at least a few of them share your blood. They're almost…family."

Tony eyed her doubtfully. "Clearly, you haven't met them," he muttered. Indeed, but Merlin, she wished she could. "But I don't have much choice, do I? Immortals don't exactly grow on trees. There’s no one else I can go to." He stood up abruptly. "If you're not going back to sleep, can we duel for a while? You can certainly use all the practise you can get," he said teasingly.

Evey glared at him. She wasn't _that_ bad! He seemed to forget that they were all experienced duellists, while she had never been in an actual fight before in her life. And, unfortunately, while she had inherited Tony’s ability to turn invisible, her reflexes weren't enhanced, as his were.

At least she hadn’t inherited anything bad from Greyback. Just the thought that she shared some of the werewolf's traits made her shudder in disgust, but she entertained a faint hope that it would go away when she killed the bloody beast – and kill him she would.


	28. Another one bites the dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is about the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. You know what to expect.

Evey was glad that nobody argued when she said that she was coming along. If the kids were in danger, she wanted to help, too.

She Side-Along Apparated with Walden inside the Ministry of Magic – she really ought to learn how to do Apparate on her own, one of these days – and Tony popped up beside them a moment later, although she only knew that because he told them to be careful; he had turned himself invisible so that lurking Death Eaters wouldn't realise he was alive. Evey herself didn't bother; she wanted Walden to be able to see her, if he needed help. Keeping everyone alive was her priority, and if someone recognised her, well, she would deal with the consequences later.

They ran toward the Department of Mysteries, on Level Nine. Other members of the Order were already there and engaged in combat against several Death Eaters. One of Voldemort’s minions – the only woman, as far as Evey could see – let out a loud curse when she spotted Walden and threw a nasty hex in his direction. That had to be the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange. Evey raised a ward in front of them both and shot back a Full Body-Bind Curse at the older witch, which she evaded by stepping aside gracefully. She was obviously a skilled duellist. Walden engaged her a moment later and Evey turned toward the man who stood beside the mad woman. He was thickset and dark-haired and seemed bored to death even as he fought Evey. That would be Rodolphus, Bellatrix's husband.

Just as the Death Eater started to shout the incantation for the Killing Curse, Antonin – Evey assumed it was him – shoved Lestrange aside and grabbed his wand. He snapped it in half and threw the pieces in Rodolphus's face as the older man stared quizzically at Tony's invisible form. They had been told not to kill anyone, but rather to disable and capture as many Death Eaters as possible, so Tony simply Stunned Rodolphus with his own borrowed wand – he’d found it in Regulus Black’s bedroom at the headquarters – and left him there.

Evey turned to find a new opponent – Walden seemed to have Bellatrix well in hand for now – but before she could do anything, a terrible pain hit her. It was like nothing she'd ever felt. The agony left her utterly helpless and she fell to the floor, writhing and screaming.

* * *

It was impossible.

She couldn't be alive. It had to be…her twin, maybe? Fenrir sniffed the air. No, it was her, alright. He remembered her scent. He remembered it very well indeed.

While Fenrir was still trying to process the information, he suffered a second shock – both literally and figuratively. As a flash of crimson light hit the girl and she collapsed from the agony of the Cruciatus Curse, he felt her pain echo in his own body. He gaped at her in horror before recovering his senses – somewhat.

_That explains the bloody vampire bite, at least_ , he thought bitterly. How the fuck had she gotten bitten by a bloodsucker, if she’d been hiding at the Order’s headquarters? It must have been an Ancient, too, for Fenrir to still bear the mark. No other wound would leave a scar on him. Most likely, it was the same Ancient who was presently giving the Death Eaters a hard time. How had the Order managed to hire one of them?

It was strange: Fenrir could have sworn that he knew the Ancient's scent, but mixed with the overwhelming vampire stench, it was difficult to say exactly who it was. It had to be a recently turned one, though, that much was certain. The handful who could turn invisible were all accounted for.

The pain stopped abruptly. He saw the girl stumble back to her feet an instant later – she was stronger that she looked – and start a duel against the person who'd attacked her. Rabastan Lestrange, as Fenrir might have expected. It was one of the man's favourite spells. As a green blaze hurtled toward the girl from another direction, however, it suddenly dawned on Fenrir that, if she died…

_Zum Donnerwetter!_

Cursing some more under his breath, Fenrir ran and crashed into her. They landed hard on the stone floor and the girl's wand flew some distance away. Rabastan gave him a venomous glare, but his attention was diverted as another member of the damned Order engaged him. Remus Lupin, Fenrir thought – the Order's tamed poodle. He recognised the weakling’s scent.

"What the hell!" the girl shouted. She tried to disentangle herself from him but Fenrir pinned her down under his weight. Her eyes opened wide when she realised who’d tackled her. "You?!" she hissed. "I'll fucking kill you!" She flailed with her one free arm but Fenrir quickly caught it.

"If you do that, _Liebchen_ ," he whispered close to her ear, "you kill us both."

"What?" she demanded sharply, though she was struggling to free herself.

"Have you by any chance suffered odd injuries in the past year? Scratches and bites you couldn't quite explain, perhaps?" Fenrir asked her nonchalantly. The girl stared at him blankly for a second, but then she seemed to understand what he was saying. Her stare turned into an outraged glare. "Don't give me that look, girl. I got a permanent fang scar because of you," he said with a grimace. A scar from a _verdammt_ vampire. _God, the very thought…_ Nobody could ever find out about this. It was a disgrace. Fenrir would get his hands on the bloody vermin, and kill it.

"Codswallop," the girl said eventually, but she sounded appalled and reeked of fear and loathing.

With one swift stroke, Fenrir opened a gash in his cheek with his fingernail before she could speak again. Sure enough, the wound was mirrored on the girl's cheek almost simultaneously – and it healed a moment later, just like his own, Fenrir realised with a start. "What the hell _are_ you?" he growled.

"I could return the question but, if we're connected like that, I guess I'm at least part murderous freak," she retorted fiercely. He felt her attempt to throw a Stunner at him – she cast it non-verbally and wandlessly; impressive, for one so young – but of course it had no effect on him.

"Nice try," he told her with a smirk. He looked up suddenly. The traitor Macnair was hurrying toward them, wand raised, but Rodolphus sent a Killing Curse at his back. Macnair's mismatched eyes widened when the greenish light struck him, and he went down without a sound. "Well, there goes Macnair," Fenrir muttered. What a shame. He'd had a mind to turn the man for years, but somehow never got around to it. He would have made a decent werewolf.

The girl twisted her head, straining to see behind her, but she was in no position to do that. She was struggling more wildly than ever, not even bothering to use magic anymore. Was it the mention of Macnair that had prompted the reaction? It didn't matter. More people were noticing them. Fenrir had to leave, and fast. "Let me _go_ , you bastard!" she yelled in his ear.

He let out a mirthless, rasping laugh. "Do you really believe I will ever let you out of my sight, little girl?" he murmured softly in response. He straightened up and brought the girl up with him. Just before he Disapparated, he saw her look around frantically until she finally settled on Macnair's corpse. She paled visibly and he received a sudden whiff of hatred, fury, terror and grief all mingled together. On top of that, she now reeked of…guilt? How odd.

Grateful that they didn't share an emotional connection, at least, Fenrir vanished with the girl just as Bellatrix's exultant whoop resounded in the vast hall.

* * *

_Finally, some real action_ , Sirius thought. He felt better, more alive than he had in years – in over a decade, really. He evaded his cousin's hex easily by feinting to the right and shot back a Stunner in her direction. They'd been at it for an uncommonly long time; duels rarely lasted longer than a few minutes, in his experience. Bellatrix was as capable as he recalled, and as ready to kill as ever. Another flash of green flew over his head just an instant after he ducked to avoid it.

Bellatrix had always been his least favourite cousin, and there had been competition. How he'd hated family gatherings at his parents' place. The nice people were never invited. He'd never even met his younger cousin, Tonks, until last year, and he barely remembered her mother, his aunt Andromeda, who had been banned from her sister's house when Sirius was just a child.

He kept his focus on Bellatrix, but he couldn't help an occasional glance around the room. Remus was nearby, with Harry; apparently, they were fighting Lucius Malfoy together. It was difficult to put into words how much Harry reminded him of James. The present situation might as well have been initiated by his late best friend – Prongs would have jumped on his broom without a moment's hesitation and come charging with his wand raised, if he'd believed Sirius to be in danger. He had always been the reckless one, no matter what people thought. Sirius couldn't decide if it made him desperately sad or incredibly happy that Harry was the spitting image of James. To Sirius, it was a constant reminder of what he had lost, but it was also Prongs's legacy – and Lily's. They would have been so proud of their son. Even after all this time, their deaths haunted his dreams. He would see that Peter reaped what he had sowed if it was the last thing he did, he had vowed. The idea of righteous vengeance was what had kept Sirius sane, in Azkaban.

He was a little too slow to evade Bellatrix's next offensive jinx entirely, and he felt a burning sensation in his left shoulder – thankfully, not his wand arm. His reflexes were not what they had once been, he had to admit. After twelve years in Azkaban, followed by two years spent idly sitting on his arse, it was hardly surprising, although he'd had a little practice duelling his housemates in the past few months. What _was_ surprising was that his cousin seemed just as quick and responsive as she had been before being imprisoned. Her insanity must be keeping her fit.

Sirius felt that something had changed in the chamber; everybody seemed oddly agitated, but he couldn't afford to spare the rest of them a glance. His attention was now entirely directed at his despicable cousin. He evaded yet another attempt from Bellatrix to subject him to the Cruciatus Curse and laughed at her. " _Come on, you can do better than that!*_ " he taunted her.

It was a mistake. His laughter had distracted him, barely for a second, but it provided Bellatrix with a perfect opportunity. This time, there was nothing Sirius could do to evade the blazing flash of light. It hit him square in the chest. His eyes widened in shock.

_It’s all right_ , he thought. _It’s just a Stunner_. _You’re not dead_.

He hadn't realised how close they were to the ominous, ancient-looking archway that stood in the middle of the large chamber. Sirius felt himself fall slowly backward, as if in a dream, then something seemed to _pull_ at him from within. He caught a final glimpse of his godson and Moony just before the darkness engulfed him.

His last thought was of James and of their imminent reunion, at long, long last.


	29. I am a god, you dull creature

They Apparated in the middle of a forest. It was dark – dawn was still hours away, in Evey’s estimation – and eerily silent. She couldn't make out a single bird cry or any rustle among the trees. Greyback was still clutching her arm, painfully, and she tried to free herself once more. This time, he didn't hold her back, and she almost lost her balance as she pulled her arm away. She caught herself at the last moment, stumbling awkwardly, and shot Greyback a baleful glare, but it was lost on the werewolf. He'd pulled out a small notebook from somewhere and was patting his pockets, supposedly to find a pen.

He was obviously distracted. Evey wouldn't get a better opportunity.

She turned herself invisible and ran away from him, as fast as she could. She wished she remembered how she'd Apparated after he attacked her the first time. She had to get back to the Ministry, and quickly. Walden couldn't be dead. He must have been Stunned, nothing more. _Gods, please, let him be alright._

She couldn't have run more than a few dozen feet before Greyback caught her, almost tearing out her arm as he grabbed it. Evey heard him grunt an instant later, just as the pain hit her. She remained invisible a moment longer but soon decided that it was pointless.

She considered hexing him wandlessly, but that hadn’t worked before. Either Greyback was impervious to magic, unlikely as it may be, or Evey wasn’t as good at wandless magic as she’d assumed. Maybe Walden and Tony had just been trying to cheer her up for being so lousy at duelling.

" _Dummes Mädchen_ ," Greyback growled as he released her. "I'm a _werewolf_. Do you think I need to see you to hunt you down?” Well, as far as Evey knew, werewolves only hunted by scent during the full moon. But this was Greyback. He was different from the other werewolves; Remus had mentioned it before, as had Walden and Antonin. “The stench of your fear alone could guide me easily through the woods," he said with an unpleasant leer. He frowned at her suddenly. "How did you do that?" he asked, gesturing in her general direction. Evey didn't reply, but fixed him with a flat stare instead. He muttered something under his breath and took out his notebook once more. He found a pen a moment later and jotted down a few words, then he showed her the paper. It simply read ' _HMP Carchar'_.

HMP? What did that stand for? The note burst into flames and Greyback let it drop nonchalantly. Just as Evey opened her mouth to enquire, she realised that they were no longer surrounded by trees, at least not on all sides. They stood near a building of considerable size – or rather, several small constructions flanking a much larger building – and ringed by a towering wall topped with barbed wire. The entrance gates looked imposing but were wide open, and there were little turrets located at regular intervals near the wall – guard towers, Evey assumed.

It was a prison.

Greyback caught her staring. "Welcome to Asgard," he said with a wide grin.

* * *

They made their way to the gates, Greyback walking beside her. At least he wasn't clutching her arm anymore. There was a sign on one gate that represented a snarling wolf with the inscription ' _Vorsicht_ , _bissiger Wolf_ ' in crimson underneath. _Caution, mean wolf_ , Evey thought that translated. It was probably a reference to the 'beware the dog' signs that were sometimes found in Muggle households. How amusing.

"Asgard," Evey repeated after a minute. That was one of the Nine Worlds, according to Norse mythology, and the home of the Æsir, the gods. "You think highly of yourself, don't you?" she told Greyback crookedly.

"Why shouldn't I?" he said with a shrug. "I'm Fenrir."

Evey rolled her eyes. "Right. You're a mythological wolf." He didn't actually believe himself to be _the_ Fenrir, did he? Fenrir was a primordial demon, the son of a god and a giantess. Was Greyback delusional, on top of everything else?

"Of course not," he said. "I'm not a demon," he added with a wolfish grin. "I am god-like, however, and my namesake is known for his godly parentage."

Evey held back a snigger. So…not delusional, just megalomaniac. It wasn't much better, as far as she was concerned. She shook her head slightly and decided to change the subject. "Is it only protected by a Fidelius Charm?" she asked, pointing to the prison.

Greyback barked a sneering laugh. "Obviously not. We have all the usual Muggle-repellent wards. There are armed guards patrolling the grounds and manning the towers at all times, and there is much darker magic at work as well, thanks to our…patron. Some…creatures can walk right through the Fidelius," he said with a disgusted twist of his mouth.

Evey glanced up sharply at that, surprised that he would know. Then again, maybe he wasn't referring to the Ancients. Other magical beings or beasts – or spirits – might well have the same ability. Greyback frowned at her when he saw her expression. "I bloody knew it," he muttered. "You have a damned vampire on your side, no? Who is she? I sniffed her out, but I didn't recognise the scent under the rotten corpse's foul smell."

 _She? Does he think that our Ancient is a woman? If so, he’d better keep believing that._ Evey gave him a blank stare, but Greyback just chuckled and waved the topic aside. "Don't be deterred by the place's grim appearance," he went on a moment later with a gesture that encompassed the whole facility. Evey couldn't make out most of it in the gloom. "It has all the best modern equipment. Great laundry service, as you'd expect, and the food is better than in an actual prison. The rooms are nice, if a little small." Bloody hell. He sounded like a hotel manager welcoming a weary tourist.

 _At least it will be a comfortable cell_ , Evey thought resignedly. She looked around but saw none of the guards he'd mentioned. There were very few lights, except on the pathway that led to the entrance of the main building. Perhaps werewolves had better night vision than other people.

They walked in silence until they reached the largest construction. In front of the solid-looking door, Greyback paused and knocked what Evey assumed was a secret knock to grant them entrance. She made sure to remember it, just in case. It might prove useful in the future, though a secret knock hardly seemed like the sort of mysterious, dark magic protection that Greyback had hinted at earlier. There had to be more to it than that.

The door opened to reveal a scrawny man of about sixty, with a scruffy beard and crooked yellow teeth. He gaped at Evey in shock. "Now, now, Gene. It's rude to stare," Greyback said chidingly.

The man seemed to come out of his trance and bowed slightly, lowering his eyes to stare at the floor instead. He didn't say anything as he scrambled out of their path and closed the door behind them.

They were following a scarcely lit corridor. Despite the obscurity, Evey saw that the interior was more welcoming than the façade. Sections of the walls were painted in bright colours, and everything seemed impeccably clean. "That was Eugene," Greyback told her a moment later. "He's a decent lad, when he's sober."

Lad? The man was older than Greyback! And why was he telling her that? She didn't care what his name was. "Do you even know _my_ name?" she asked as the thought suddenly struck her.

Greyback paused in his tracks and turned to gaze down at her. Gods, but he was tall. She felt like a Hobbit beside him. "Now that you mention it, I realise that we haven't been properly introduced," he said brightly. "I'm Fenrir. How do you do?" he said, offering a hand for her to shake.

Evey narrowed her eyes at him, ignoring the proffered hand. He couldn’t be serious. "You murdered my entire family, and you don't even know my fucking _name_?" she shouted indignantly.

He withdrew his hand with a sigh. "I didn't bother to check the name tag on the mailbox, I'm afraid. I didn't care, at the time, you understand," he said matter-of-factly. "I do now, though."

"You're…" She trailed off and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. The nerve of the man! If she’d had anything to stab him with, she would have given it a try, even if it meant stabbing herself in the process. She doubted that punching him would accomplish anything except bruise her knuckles, but Merlin, it was tempting. "My name," she told him acidly, “is Evangeline Kane, daughter of Aidan and Eileen." It was difficult to utter their names out loud, even now, and especially in their murderer’s presence. She couldn’t bring herself to say her brother’s name. She didn't want to cry in front of the bloody werewolf. She needed to keep her cool.

"Pleasure," Greyback said casually. Without another word, he started walking again. Evey followed him reluctantly. What else could she do?

"If you didn't know my name," she went on after a minute, "why were you even at our house in the first place? I assumed – we all did – that you were there on Voldemort's orders."

"Not at all," he said. "Your scent called to me, and I answered its call. Nothing to do with Voldemort." Evey expected some explanation to the cryptic reply, but Greyback fell silent once more. She noted that he referred to his master by name; few Death Eaters dared. Then again, Greyback was not a proper Death Eater, merely a hired thug.

Her _scent_ had called to him? What the hell did that even mean? Before she had time to enquire, they stepped into a vast room filled with several long tables and benches. It had to be the dining hall. By Evey’s estimation, it could fit several hundred people easily. There were a few scattered men here and there, sitting alone or in groups of two or three. One of them stood up as soon as they entered the room. He was a tall man, although not quite of a height with Greyback. He had fair skin and tousled brown hair, and he had to be in his early thirties.

Greyback stood near the door as the other man made his way briskly toward them. He stopped some distance away and kept his grey eyes on the floor, but Evey thought that he looked quite puzzled. "This is Scabior," Greyback told her. Again, she wondered why he was introducing the man to her. "He's my second-in-command. When I'm not present, he's in charge."

"Scabior," Evey repeated. "Is that a first name or a last name?" she asked the man.

He remained silent, so she turned to frown at Greyback, who laughed. "They talk when I address them, _Schatz_. But they'll talk to you when I'm not around, I'm sure. Once they get used to you," he added as an afterthought.

This was becoming weirder by the minute. Why couldn't they speak freely when Greyback was there? "Have you…brainwashed them? Are they under the Imperium Curse?" Scabior gave her an incredulous, almost fearful glance, then quickly settled his eyes on the floor once more.

Greyback barked another laugh. "This is how it works around here, girlie. I'm the Alpha. Do you know what that means?"

Evey had already guessed that Greyback was their leader, but she had never thought that the term 'Alpha' might apply to a person, even if that person was a werewolf. "You're the boss, yes, I figured. But so what? Why can't they look you in the eye or talk without being prompted?"

"Because it's considered disrespectful," Greyback replied as if it were obvious. "And because I might interpret direct eye contact as an invitation to brawl, a thing that most sane people tend to avoid at all costs."

Evey wasn’t sure what this meant, but she made sure to gaze into the Alpha’s eyes when she spoke again. "I do hope you won't imagine that I'm being disrespectful in any way, you manky git," she told him sweetly.


	30. What in Oblivion is that?

The Alpha's glare was a frightening thing, and Scabior was relieved not to be its recipient. He could almost _taste_ the effort it took Fenrir not to bash the girl's head in. What was she even doing here? There had never been a female in Asgard before, not since they'd taken residence in the abandoned prison seven years ago. And how dared she act as she did, let alone address the Alpha so rudely?

Fenrir must have sniffed out his anxiety and confusion, because he suddenly shifted his attention to Scabior and briefly explained what was going on. Their surprise guest would be staying with them indefinitely, he said. Scabior was to find her a room, as far away from anyone as possible, and make sure that the pack knew not to approach her, not until he’d determined what to do with her. If anyone touched a hair out of her, Fenrir added, he would see them dead and hold Scabior responsible. After that last remark, the Alpha walked away without another word to the female, who was frowning at them both in turn, arms crossed over her chest. She probably didn't speak Polish.

When he was certain that Fenrir was out of sight, Scabior raised his head to gaze at the girl. She gave him an appraising look in return. She was very young, barely more than a cub, and quite short. What truly mesmerised Scabior, however, was her scent.

It was different than that of anyone he'd ever met. Every person – every human being – had their own, unique scent, and those who were more – or less – than human had something extra, like the vampires, for example, who reeked of decaying flesh, even though they didn't actually rot, of course, not until the day of their death. Scabior could recognise most creatures by their scent, but this was nothing he'd ever encountered. It was not unpleasant, far from it; it was sweet, almost disturbingly so, like…like candy, or sugary liquor. What the hell _was_ she?

Scabior considered asking her, but he was thrown off by her steady, accusatory glare. Well, it was hardly his fault that she was here. The Alpha had provided no name for her but, thankfully, he'd said nothing about making conversation, so Scabior simply cocked his head toward the other end of the dining hall and indicated that the girl should follow.

The other men present gave her uncertain glances and scowls and Scabior heard several of them mutter to themselves that females had no place here. He couldn't agree more, if truth be told. There were over three hundred werewolves who lived here permanently and about forty more who came and went as they pleased – the few who had families. The families, however, were not allowed on the grounds.

"Can you speak now?" the girl asked as they made their way to the east wing, where they accommodated the wolves who visited only occasionally. It was almost empty at the moment. Scabior made no reply. "I see," she muttered. "Is that what he told you, earlier? To give me the silent treatment?" She sniffed disdainfully. "What is this place, anyway? I mean, it's a prison, obviously, but what are you doing here?"

_Is she going to talk the whole way?_ Scabior thought dismally. He’d known her for barely five minutes, but he was already getting a headache.

"Are you mute?" she asked after a moment. Hopefully, she would take his silence as an affirmation.

If she did, however, it didn't stop her from chattering. "I don't know how you can work for _him_. Do you have any idea what kind of…beast he is?" The hesitation had been clear. She didn't consider Fenrir as a person. They were all the same, weren't they? Werewolves weren't human, to them. They were inferior beings, rabid dogs that ought to be put down. The Alpha never failed to remind them of this simple fact. Werewolves had no rights, none at all. _That_ was what they were doing here. They were trying to change that. And if it took an alliance with the Dark Lord to accomplish it, so be it. Scabior didn't bother to reply. Biased as the girl evidently was, she wouldn't understand. She would never see that _she_ was the one who had been brainwashed.

They arrived in the wing where the guest rooms were. Scabior carefully elected the one farther down the hall, as far away from the others as possible, but her mere presence – her scent, really – had already caused a few wolves to awaken. The girl gave them wary glances and Scabior felt her step a little closer to him. What in the blazes made her think that she was any safer near him than anywhere near the other, inferior werewolves? He was Fenrir's second, for crying out loud!

With a resigned sigh, Scabior ignored her and everyone else as they approached the cell he'd selected for her. The door was open, of course – they could be closed, as they used to be back when the place still housed Muggle prisoners, but they rarely used the old mechanism anymore. Thankfully, it was still functional.

There was a colourful drape masking the inside of the former cell, to give the guests some privacy. Scabior gestured for the girl to get in, but she simply stood there, her posture rigid, gazing up at him stonily.

"What now?" Scabior mumbled eventually. He’d already decided that, whoever she was, whatever the reason for her presence, the girl was going to be a serious pain in his arse.

"I want you to tell that murdering bastard that, no matter how long it takes, I _will_ find a way to reverse the bloody curse," she said. Her eyes were blazing with intensity.

Scabior scoffed disdainfully. Curse? Why did they always call it that? Being a werewolf wasn't a curse, it was a blessing. The girl turned away without another word, apparently confident that Scabior would deliver her message to the Alpha.

Well, he certainly wasn't going to. He rather enjoyed being alive.

* * *

Scabior was accosted several times as he made his way back to the dining hall, but Fenrir hadn't given him any substantial information about the girl, so he could only grunt in reply and warn everyone to stay away from her. The Alpha must have had a good reason to bring her here, he assured them. He also quietly reminded them not to question Fenrir openly, if they wanted to live.

More wolves were beginning to emerge as Scabior entered the dining hall; dawn had come, and breakfast would be ready soon. Word was spreading fast, and Scabior suspected that the female's lingering scent had the men even more puzzled.

He would eat later. He needed to know exactly what was expected of him regarding their…guest. He paused only to growl at a few lesser wolves who tried to pester him with questions, and they scattered like sheep.

He reached Fenrir's office a minute later and waited to be admitted in. He didn't need to knock, of course; the Alpha would have heard him approach and recognised him by his scent. "Come in," Fenrir called out a moment later. Scabior stepped inside and remained standing. He kept his eyes on the polished desk. "She settled in?" Fenrir asked. He smelled…annoyed, irritated.

"Aye. She's in the east wing," Scabior replied softly. It wouldn't do to aggravate Fenrir’s already foul mood.

The Alpha nodded. "Good. Don't worry, I'll make an announcement." He paused, and his scent shifted. Determination, focus. That was more like it. "She's not a regular witch, as you might've picked up," he went on.

Scabior let out a noncommittal grunt. As far as he could tell, she was a bloody alien.

"I have no idea what she is," Fenrir admitted. "I don't suppose you've recognised her scent as anything you know?"

Scabior frowned at the desk. "It's like…candy floss, or maybe cherry _nalewka_ , or a mix of both. I've never–"

"What are you talking about?" Fenrir barked at him. "She smells like fresh, raw meat, not _candy floss_."

Scabior felt a sudden rush of confusion and worry. Meat? That was not at all what he'd gotten from the female. He had to tread very carefully. The Alpha was clearly angry now, and it seemed directed at Scabior. "I… Fenrir, I don't know what to tell you. I swear that's what she smelled like. To me," he added after a brief hesitation.

The Alpha was silent for a long time. "Go fetch Gene," he commanded eventually.

Scabior stood up smoothly and hurried toward the entrance, where Eugene was to stand guard for another hour, and led the wolf to Fenrir's office. "Gene, that girl I brought in earlier," the Alpha said, "can you describe her scent to me?"

Eugene was obviously uncomfortable at being interrogated by Fenrir. He was one of the lesser wolves, situated somewhere near the very bottom of pack hierarchy. "Whisky?" Gene replied uncertainly. "Aye, she smelled like Lagavulin, boss," he went on more firmly. "30 years old."

How could they possibly not agree on what she smelled like?

"Has either of you ever been in contact with Amortentia?" Fenrir asked after a moment.

"Don’t know what that is, boss," Gene replied. He wasn’t a wizard, so the answer was expected.

"The love potion?" Scabior said with a frown.

" _Ja_ , the love potion. I've never encountered it, personally, but it's said to smell different to everyone," Fenrir said.

Scabior shifted uncomfortably. "That's… That would be… Do you think the girl changes her scent on purpose, to mess with us?"

"I wouldn't put it past her," Fenrir muttered. "But I don't think so. Most likely, she's not even aware of it."

"Fenrir… Who _is_ she?" Scabior finally forced himself to ask the question that had been torturing him for half an hour.

He sensed…hesitation from the Alpha. That was unusual, to say the least. "Thank you, Gene. You can go back to your post," Fenrir told the other wolf. Eugene didn't need to be told twice.

"I bit her," Fenrir said when Gene was out of earshot. Scabior opened his eyes wide at the desk. "Yeah, I know. But I did, and she's here, alive and hale. That's not even the worst part," Fenrir went on. "We're…linked, somehow. Remember those bloody puncture marks?" Scabior nodded without raising his head. That had been a puzzle. Fenrir, believing that a vampire had somehow infiltrated Asgard, had turned the place upside down looking for the bloodsucker – without alerting the rest of the pack, of course. "Well, it was her. _She_ got bitten. We mirror each other's wounds, for some reason, and she heals just as quickly as I do."

Oh. That was likely what the girl had meant by 'curse'. Now Scabior could better understand her revulsion, if only because he sensed Fenrir's. "And, last but not least," the Alpha said, the distaste clear in his voice, "she can turn invisible. Like the fucking Swindler or those other two, whatever their stupid nicknames are…"

Scabior was the only member of the pack who knew who Fenrir was – who he _really_ was. Because of that, he was also aware of the existence of those so-called Ancients – vampires who fancied themselves gods, or the next thing to it. But the female… What did that make her? She wasn't a vampire, and she couldn't possibly be a werewolf. The very idea was ludicrous. Scabior told Fenrir as much.

"I have no clue what she is, but I intend to find out. What I _do_ know is that she will be staying here, under constant watch, until we figure it out. No matter how long it takes," the Alpha said resignedly.


	31. Don't underestimate the things that I will do

Evey had tried to get some sleep after Scabior departed, but it was no use. She kept seeing Walden's unmoving body. But he couldn't be dead. She would _know_ if he were dead, surely. He must have been Stunned, nothing more.

She'd only been captive for a few hours, but already she’d thought about suicide, plain and simple. It wasn't something she would have considered in other circumstances, but the situation was dire. Greyback was apparently impervious to magic, and the wandless spells Evey had attempted to cast to open the door of her cell had proven useless. She suspected that magic couldn't be used inside the building. If that was the case, what other weapon did she have at her disposal? She was locked up in a prison cell and surrounded by Merlin knew how many werewolves. At least if she killed herself, Greyback would likely die as well.

For the hundredth time, Evey contemplated her connection with Greyback. What sort of magic could possibly be at work here? She had never heard of anything remotely akin to this curse. Evey’s circumstances had been peculiar to begin with, and Greyback had seemed as puzzled as she was, so it was nothing he had done – at least not wittingly. What also troubled her was that the werewolf had healed as fast as she had. She'd never read anywhere that werewolves regenerated quickly, even when transformed. Or was it another consequence of their improbable bond?

The worst part was that she couldn't even wish for rescue. She knew that Walden would try to find her – if he was even alive – but what if he did? Even if the entire Order turned up at the prison, they would be badly outnumbered, and unable to cast any magic besides. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

The situation was dire indeed.

Dawn had come and gone as Evey pondered these depressing matters, and no one had come to check on her. She was starved.

It was another hour – to the best of Evey’s estimation – before a man she hadn't encountered before appeared with a tray. Scabior had removed the drape covering her door after their short discussion the night before, so she saw him approach. He was about forty, tall and massive, with an unkempt beard. He eyed her quite thoroughly for a long moment, mouth slightly ajar, as if he'd never seen a woman before. He kept sniffling all the while. Maybe he had a cold.

When she'd had enough of his staring, Evey arched an eyebrow and addressed him as politely as she could manage, under the circumstances. Maybe he wasn't here of his own free will, after all. "Can I help you?" Well, it came out a bit harshly, perhaps.

He seemed to regain his senses at the sound of her voice. Shaking his head, he placed the tray near the metal gate of her cell. It was a full breakfast, with eggs and bacon, sausages and beans, and even some buttered toast. There was some coffee, too. Evey’s stomach rumbled at the sight of that feast. How was she supposed to eat it through the bars, though?

The man cleared his throat roughly. "Um…I'm going to open the door now," he said in a thick Mancunian accent. "Um…please stay on the bed while I do that. And um…don't do nothing, um, rash. Please," he added sheepishly.

Merlin, was he _scared_ of her? She was half his size, for crying out loud!

Then she realised that he was more likely afraid of Greyback. The Alpha must have admonished his minions to be careful around her. Well, he shouldn't have worried. What could she possibly do? Grapple with him? Evey giggled at the thought and the man shot her a troubled glance before walking away, presumably to activate the opening mechanism. The door slid open a moment later, but Evey waited for the man to come back before moving forward. She didn't want to perturb him more than he already was.

"Um…you can have the food now, if you want," he muttered, eyes downcast. Evey noticed that he maintained a safe distance between them.

Finally, she got up, picked up the tray and sat back down on the bed to eat. She didn't look up from her plate, but she heard the gate closing, then the sound of retreating footsteps moments later. She ate everything but left the coffee untouched. She didn't like the bitter drink, especially black. She hoped that someone would think to bring her some tea, or water, at the very least.

When she was done with her breakfast, Evey lay down on the bed and waited. She didn't have anything else to do. She'd saved the knife and fork that were provided with the meal and kept them within easy reach, but she wasn't sure that she could bring herself to use them. What would be the point, anyway? Even if she managed to wound or kill one of the werewolves – and murdering presumably innocent people certainly didn't appeal to her – she wouldn't be any closer to getting out of here. It would only enrage Greyback – not that she cared about his feelings, obviously, but he might decide to take it out on other people, since he couldn't harm her directly. What if he decided to hunt down other members of the Order to get back at her?

Gods. What a pickle.

Scabior came by sometime later, around midday, Evey assumed, since her stomach was already acting up. She ate a lot more than she used to, since she'd been bitten by Greyback the year before. As far as she was concerned, the only good thing that came out of _that_ was that she didn't put on weight anymore. She had a remarkable metabolism.

Scabior, however, bore no tray, Evey noticed with marked disappointment. "Fenrir wants to see you," he announced without preamble.

Evey scoffed. "He could have come himself. It would have saved you the trouble." She stood up to face him. "Well? I'm locked up, mate. You have to open the gate if you want me to come with you," she pointed out wryly.

Scabior gave her a flat stare but made no reply as he moved to activate the door mechanism. Evey stepped out of her cell as he made his way back to it, but he didn't seem bothered that she'd taken the initiative. He simply kept on walking silently along the corridor, and Evey followed.

"You should stand up for yourself, you know. You don't have to do everything Greyback says. You seem like a decent person. Why do you serve him? What did he offer you? What's holding you here?" Pestering him with questions hadn't worked before, but Evey hoped that he might get irritated and let something useful slip. He didn't. He kept his eyes firmly ahead and refused to acknowledge anything she said. Well, if he thought he could out-stubborn her, he was in for a surprise. "Whatever Greyback promised you, I trust you're smart enough to know that it will never happen. Did he even tell you why I'm here? Did he explain that to you, o faithful second?" Evey asked with a smirk.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Scabior mumbled.

Ah. Progress. "I do not. Do you really condone murder? All of you here? I find it hard to believe that so many people could be like-minded, even if Greyback recruits only former inmates. Does he? Is that why you live here?" She wouldn't put it past him.

"What the hell are you going on about?" Scabior said suddenly. "Murder? He's not going to harm you, girl. He forbade anyone to even get close to you without his express consent."

Evey halted in the middle of the corridor and Scabior did likewise a moment later, though with obvious annoyance. "He _bit_ me," she said through gritted teeth.

He let out an impatient sigh. "Yeah, I know that," he retorted. "He explained it all to me."

"Oh? Did he really?" Evey said. "And what excuses did he make for butchering my family?"

Scabior narrowed his eyes at her, obviously confused. _Explained it all, my Aunt Fanny_ , Evey thought wryly. "Maybe you should enquire about the details. But regardless of that, he still bit me, and I'm a woman. He couldn't have known that I was going to survive, could he?" she went on. Scabior was shaking his head, likely in denial. "He's deceiving you, Scabior. How can you not see that?" Evey said softly.

Scabior hesitated, but only for a moment. "What a pile of tosh," he muttered. He started to walk again. "Come along now. He dislikes waiting."

* * *

"I take it you met Sherlock?" Greyback asked after Evey had settled down in the chair opposite him. He hadn’t offered her a seat; she’d simply taken it. Judging by Scabior’s faint but outraged gasp, it was something Greyback disapproved of, though he didn’t show it.

"Sherlock?" Evey repeated blankly. She made certain to keep her eyes on Greyback’s as she spoke.

"The wolf who brought you your breakfast. An uncommon name, but his mother was crazy about Conan Doyle."

Evey couldn’t care less about this bloke’s backstory. "Why do you keep introducing everyone to me? You think I care if his name’s Sherlock or Susan? What’s next? You’re going to show me pictures of their kids?"

“Most of them don’t have children, sadly.” Oddly enough, he did look saddened by this fact. “And I do this because it's the polite thing to do, and because you're going to be here for a while. You might as well get acquainted with your new…housemates."

Evey rolled her eyes. "Did you summon me here just to tell me this?" she demanded. And did he honestly believe that being _polite_ was going to make her more amenable?

"I wanted to know if you were comfortably accommodated."

_Codswallop_. "Then wouldn't it have been more logical for you to check on me in the cell, instead of having Scabior bring me all the way here?" Evey said dryly.

Greyback’s face hardened. "You'll have to come to terms with the fact that I'm in charge here, girlie. I don't go to people. They come to me."

"And what are you going to do if I refuse to comply, next time? Will you have Scabior or Susan _drag_ me here?”

Um. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. It might give him ideas.

Greyback eyed her for a moment before replying. "I'll wager I'm more resilient to pain than you are," he said quietly.

Before Evey had time to wonder what he meant by that, Greyback grabbed a letter opener on his desk and stabbed himself in the abdomen – right in the liver, if her vague knowledge of the human body served.

Her hands reflexively applied pressure to the wounded area, but she soon went into shock and found herself unable to breathe, her vision blurring. She slowly slid off the chair and fell to the floor with a crash, whimpering, tears of agony leaking down her face.

The world went dark.

When she regained consciousness, a few seconds later, it was all gone – the wound and the pain were gone, anyway. Her already dirty T-shirt was now caked with blood, but she wasn't even sore as she heaved herself back in the chair. The memory of the pain, however, was still fresh in her mind, and she winced at the sight of the letter opener.

"I'm sure you could get used to it," Greyback said flatly. He looked as though nothing had happened, despite the blood that stained his shirt. "But surely you'll agree that it would be more…pleasant for you if you weren't living in constant pain – or fear of it." He gave her a pointed look.

Evey made no reply. What could she possibly say? The man was obviously insane.

Greyback nodded as if she'd just agreed to his words and called out to Scabior, who was waiting outside the room. He ordered his second to take Evey to the showers, then back to her cell, but to leave the door open and to rehang the curtain.

_Well, this is going to be even more fun than I anticipated_ , Evey thought glumly as she was marched outside Greyback’s office.


	32. The past is a great darkness, and filled with echoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: child abuse.

The female's words nagged away at Scabior more than he cared to admit. It couldn't be true. Fenrir would never do anything of the sort. The Alpha despised wolves who were unable to control their urges, even during the full moon. That was part of their training, here at Asgard: to learn to control their impulses, even while under the influence of the moon. It was a basic lesson taught from the beginning. Most of the children had already mastered the trick.

It had taken Scabior longer than most to acquire that simple ability. To be fair, his childhood had been even more troubled than that of some of the orphans currently residing in the former prison.

He had been raised in Reading by his _babunia_ , his grandmother, until he was eight. She had taught him Polish but had made certain that his English was impeccable by hiring a tutor. She was not a demonstrative woman, but Scabior felt perfectly at home in their cosy house with the beautiful garden and its cherry trees. He looked back on those days with fondness and nostalgia. His grandmother's only failing was that she had instilled in him, from a very young age, a certain inclination for _nalewka_ , a traditional Polish liquor that she macerated herself.

His mother had left him with the old woman when he was just a baby, and Scabior had never met her until his grandmother died. The government people placed him in his mother's care after a long search to find her. She had moved up north, near Blackpool, with the bloke she was fucking at the time, one Quentin O'Malley.

They were quite wealthy – or at least, Quentin was. He'd inherited a fortune from his parents and owned a fancy villa in a residential area. Scabior wasn't sure what it was they were into – heroin would be his best guess, but he knew little about drugs, even now – but they ignored him most of the time, so it wasn't so bad. He made some good friends at school, though he’d had to insist to be sent to school in the first place, and his mother only consented when Scabior explained that it was compulsory, and that they could get in trouble with the authorities. Some of his friends’ parents, guessing Scabior situation, had made sure that he was properly fed and often invited him to stay over.

When he turned nine, Scabior’s stepfather – they had gotten married at some point, although Scabior hadn't been invited to the 'ceremony' – sent him to holiday camp. That was the summer when Scabior’s life took a drastic turn-about.

Scabior accidentally revealed his magical abilities – abilities he didn't know he had – in front of the whole gathered camp during the first week, by levitating over the lake he was supposed to dive into. He'd never been comfortable around water, and he'd wanted to avoid getting wet besides. Thus Scabior was introduced to the wizarding world and, to his great distress, so were his mother and stepfather. In view of the circumstances, the Ministry of Magic had to get involved. They explained to Scabior that he was a wizard, and that he would study at Hogwarts when he was old enough to attend. They had, of course, despatched Obliviators to remedy the situation at the holiday camp.

His mother walked out on them soon afterward. She left while Scabior was at school. Quentin was passed out on the sofa when Scabior came home, and he didn't wonder at his mother's absence until Quentin broke the news to him the following day. Scabior expected to be sent packing to the nearest orphanage or government facility until his mother or another relative could be found, but Quentin had other plans for him.

He asked Scabior to follow him down to the cellar that day. Scabior had never been downstairs before; he wasn't sure what he'd expected to find there, but it certainly wasn't a cage. It was an old, rusty thing, and barely high enough for him to fit in standing.

"Cages,” Quentin had said. “That's where we keep unstable people. That's where I'll be keeping _you_ , freak." Ensued a slurred lecture explaining that Scabior was too dangerous to be left in the care of people who didn't know what he was, and that he, Quentin, was doing the world a favour by locking him up in his cellar, at great risk to his personal safety.

Scabior was chained to the bars inside the cage. He had a bucket at his disposal, and nothing else. Quentin fed him when he remembered to. Scabior was sick most of the time, weak and dehydrated. His stepfather liked to use him as an ashtray when he was bored. Scabior still bore the marks of cigarette burns on his arms and back. When he felt like entertaining people, Quentin invited his mates over and prodded Scabior until he did something magical, to the great enjoyment of his inebriated fellows. Incredibly, the wizarding world never caught up to Quentin, despite blatant exposure to unknowing Muggles.

Scabior wasn't sure how long his ordeal lasted. He counted the days at first, but was soon too weakened to do even that.

One day he heard a kerfuffle upstairs. The sound of smashing glass, a loud thumping noise, a faint groan. He assumed that Quentin had stumbled over an empty vodka bottle and crashed to the floor; it wouldn’t be the first time. His stepfather would be in a foul mood when he brought down Scabior's excuse of a meal, if he even bothered. Scabior had curled up in a ball when he’d heard the cellar door creaking open, but it wasn't Quentin who descended the stairs.

It was Fenrir.

The Alpha had torn the cage door out of its hinges and helped Scabior out of his chains, but he'd had to carry Scabior upstairs, weak and sickly as he was. They'd retrieved Scabior's belongings, such as they were and, before he'd Side-Along Apparated with Fenrir – something he only learned about weeks later – Scabior had caught sight of Quentin’s disembowelled corpse sprawled on the kitchen floor, his blood mixing with remnants of vodka and shattered glass.

But that wasn't murder. It was justice, righteous punishment. That was what Fenrir stood for. If the girl's family had truly been killed, then they'd had it coming, one way or another. That was how the Alpha dealt with people who didn't show him proper respect, who meddled where they shouldn’t, who worked against the werewolf cause in general.

After this impromptu rescue, Fenrir had taken Scabior to one of his sanctuaries, a renovated manor house somewhere in Northern Ireland, and had given him the most precious gift of all: he had bitten him, turned him into a glorious beast, and never again had Scabior allowed anyone to make him feel weak or helpless.

There were forty other werewolves residing there at that time, some of them children, others grown men who sometimes looked much older than Fenrir himself. The Alpha had taught them how to be proper werewolves, how to activate some of the powers that were normally only accessible during the full moon, how to be the best version of themselves. He hadn't raised them to be mindless killing machines, whatever the female believed. Fenrir had taught them to be what they were supposed to be.


	33. See what life is worth, when all the rest is gone

Walden knew that something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. For one thing, it was night outside, and he could see perfectly well despite the darkness in the room.

For another, he wasn't breathing.

_Oh no he didn't,_ he thought incredulously. He took his pulse gingerly, but sure enough, there was nothing for him to feel. His skin was cold. For Merlin's sake, he _didn't_!

The door opened at that moment and Tony walked in, looking agitated. He started when he saw that Walden was awake.

"What part of _Do not turn me into a vampire under any circumstances_ did you _not_ understand?" Walden demanded crossly as he sat up in the bed.

"I…you…Wal, you were dead," Tony said sheepishly. He couldn’t meet Walden’s eyes. At least he had the grace to look guilty.

_Gods, I_ am _dead._ Well, undead, to be accurate. "To answer my own question, you didn't understand any of it, apparently," Walden muttered.

"You were _dead_ ," Tony repeated, more forcefully this time. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"

Walden glared at him. "Let me die! Is that truly so difficult to understand?"

"Do you want to die?" his brother asked. "Is that it?"

"Of course I bloody well don't _want_ to die, you twit, but I don't want to live like _that_ , either," Walden growled. "Damn you, we talked about this. I told you–" He cut off with an irritated huff. "You know what, never mind. You're a self-centred jerk. Nothing's going to change that."

"Oi, there's no need to be like that. I was just trying to help, for fuck's sake! What's the big deal? You're alive. Well, the next thing to it, anyway. That's what matters, isn't it?" Walden didn't bother to reply. It was like talking to a particularly stubborn wall.

“I panicked, alright?” Tony went on defensively when Walden remained silent. “You're the level-headed one. _You_ would have let me die without hesitation. But I just couldn’t do it, Wal. Do you have any idea what it was like? Seeing you like that?”  
  
“I mourned you for _two weeks_ , you bloody idiot!” Walden exclaimed. Tony averted his gaze, and would likely have blushed, if he could. Had he already forgotten about that? How convenient. “And yes, I’m level-headed, but I’m not cold-hearted, burn you. Of course I would have hesitated. And I would have regretted not doing it for the rest of my life, even though it was obviously the best option. The only _sensible_ option.”

Tony shook his head in denial. "Look," he continued, "I made a mistake, alright? Don't think I don't know that. It's even more of a cock-up than you know."

"How so?" Walden asked with a frown. How could it possibly be worse than it already was?

"I can only turn one person, Wal. Only one, in all my existence, and it must be someone who has what the others call the spark. We're supposed to wait for the next Ancient, not bite the first family member who dies…" He passed a hand through his already tousled hair. "Gorgo will be furious," he grumbled. The next instant, his eyes widened, as if he'd just realised he'd said something he shouldn't. Again. "I mean, the Queen will be furious," he amended quickly.

"Gorgo?" Walden repeated slowly, wonder in his voice in spite of everything else. "The Queen of Sparta? Wife to Leonidas?"

Tony groaned. "Wal, you know I'm not supposed to… Ugh, what the hell. What's one more clanger at this point," he said bitterly. "Yeah, it's her."

Walden tried to process this new information, but it was a lot to take in. _Blimey, she's over two thousand years old!_ _She's witnessed history unfold in front of her eyes._ _No, don't think about that now_ , he scolded himself. He had to focus on the matter at hand. Tony might have let it slip on purpose just to distract him.

"I can't believe Evey let you do this. I told her to never allow you anywhere near me if I died, I made her promise," Walden said. In hindsight, perhaps he should have forced an Unbreakable Vow out of the two of them. Then again, he hadn’t expected to die quite so soon. How _had_ he died, anyway? No, it didn’t matter at this point. Back on track. "I know neither of you were given a choice when it came to becoming what you are, but…" Tony tried to interrupt him, but Walden ignored him. "…but that doesn't mean I shouldn't get one, damn you both."

"Walden," Tony said again, more insistently this time.

"What?" he barked sharply.

"Evey's gone."

In the moment of utter silence that followed that statement, Walden was dimly aware of crickets chirping in the night. He was staring at Antonin in horror. "Gone?” he said weakly when his brain finally unfroze. “She's _dead_?" And the bloody idiot had decided to resuscitate _him_?

Tony raised his hands quickly. "No, no, not dead. Well, I don't think she is." He took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Greyback took her."

Something in Walden’s mind clicked. He remembered now. Greyback had tackled Evey, and Walden had rushed toward them. He’d known that no spell would do much damage to the werewolf; Greyback was notoriously resilient to magic. Walden would have to get closer and physically remove him, somehow. However, something – his death, presumably – had prevented him from reaching them in time.

Walden found his voice again. "And you _let_ him take her?" Shit, being Greyback’s captive was probably worse than being dead! “Tony, you’re a bloody Ancient!”

"I didn't notice, alright? I didn't even know _you_ were dead until the battle was over. I was on the other side of the room, trying to keep all the kids in one piece. Then I tried to save Sirius, but he was gone before I could get to the archway. I guess I'm not as fast as I thought," he mumbled.

"Sirius is dead?" Tony nodded, looking guiltier than ever. Well, that sucked, but it was not the foremost thought on Walden’s mind at the moment. "We have to find Evey," he said determinedly as he got out of bed. He was wearing pyjamas that were too tight for him, but he didn’t stop to think about it. He had to rescue Evey before it was too late. "Why are you even here? Why aren't you out looking for her?"

Tony gave him a hurt look. "You think I don’t want to do just that? We're not allowed outside."

"We were outside just yesterday,” Walden pointed out. “Besides, this is an exceptional situation. Surely they'll agree. Don't _they_ want to find her?" Walden demanded.

"Of course they do, Wal. Lupin is already making enquiries to locate Greyback but, apparently, it's not as easy as that. He's been in hiding for years, and only members of his pack know his whereabouts. And by the way, it was a week ago, not yesterday."

Walden started. "Evey’s been gone for a _week_?" He shook his head. “Let me rephrase that: Fenrir Greyback, an infamous cold-blooded murderer, has had her for a whole bloody week?”

"Well, six days,” Tony amended, biting his lower lip. His fangs were showing, a clear sign of his nervousness, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. Blood welled up from the twin pricks and ran down his chin, and Tony wiped it almost reflexively with the back of his hand. “Transforming into a vampire is a lengthy process."

Six days. Merlin! Walden didn't want to imagine what Greyback must have put Evey through already – if she was even alive. They had to find her, and _fast_. "Lupin was turned by Greyback, wasn't he?" Tony nodded hesitantly, confused by the question. "Isn't there some sort of…bond, between a werewolf and his…maker?" That was what Tony called Jeanne, but he wasn’t sure that the term applied to werewolves.

"How would I know?" Tony asked with an arched eyebrow. Merlin, he could be such an annoying twat, sometimes. "Ancients have this…blood call thing. A maker can summon his or her offspring. Another perk of turning you, see. Now I can summon you at will," he said with a tentative grin.

Walden’s fists contracted reflexively at his sides. That was bad; he had to rein in his tempter and focus his energy on helping Evey. Punching a hole through his brother could wait. "I'm going to kill your undead arse if you don't quit joking around," he said through gritted teeth. "Tony, this is serious. Do you have any idea what Greyback could be doing to Evey right now? Hell, you _saw_ what happened to her the first time they met."

Tony’s smile vanished at once. "Yeah, alright, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood." He ruffled his hair once again. If he’d been human, his hair would have fallen off a long time ago. "Wal, I already requested to be allowed outside to search for her. Dumbledore assured me that he had several people working on it, and that there was not much more we could do anyway. He's got a point," he went on with a helpless shrug. "As vampires, we won't go far, hunting down werewolves. They can literally smell us out, and when they do, they'll be unlikely to assist us. You know how things stand between us and them."

"You get along just fine with Lupin, though," Walden pointed out.

"Lupin is an exception. He's an outsider among his own kind. Greyback probably despises him. Honestly, I don't even know why he bit him in the first place. Lupin makes a terrible werewolf." He leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms. "Anyway, I don't know why we're supposed to hate each other. It's…visceral. Like it's imprinted in our genes, or something. According to legend, it dates back from the time when vampires and werewolves first appeared. Jeanne didn't tell me much about…well, anything, really. I got a cursory history lesson about my fellow Ancients, basic feeding information, and then I was thrown off the nest, so to speak. Most of them still call me fledgling," he muttered sourly.

"Tony…” Walden hesitated. “If I'm not an Ancient, because I didn’t have the spark, what am I? Just a regular bloodsucker? A half-breed?"

"Just a vampire, I guess?” He shook his head. “The sun will toast you, that much I know." He didn't say  _how_ he knew, but he was avoiding Walden's gaze again. "That's a bother, I know. No more walking around in daylight for you. On the bright side, though, you probably don't have to feed off humans. Animal blood should suffice."

Walden’s gut twisted painfully at the mention of blood but, thankfully, his stomach didn’t rumble as if he were a hungry human. There were more pressing concerns than his hunger. "Since you broached the topic, whom are _you_ going to feed off now? I assume I'm out of the question. Dead blood and all that."

Tony's face went blank for a moment. "Um…I hadn't thought about that," he admitted. "But I don't have to feed very often, anyway." He made a dismissive gesture. "We'll figure something out."

"Are we at the Burrow?" Walden asked suddenly. He didn't recognise the room, but it felt...familiar, somehow. Although spotless, it was cluttered with an assortment of very random things. That was an accurate description of the Burrow in general, if he remembered correctly.

Tony nodded. "Yeah, we had to relocate the Headquarters, now that Sirius is gone. Dumbledore said that the Grimmauld place wasn't safe anymore."

"Is everyone else alright? The kids?" Walden forced the question out. He really wanted nothing more than to jump out the window and start looking for Evey, but he had to keep his cool. Plan out a proper search. Find out who was still alive and could therefore assist them.

"There were no other casualties. The kids are fine, but they're pretty shaken, Harry especially. Oh, and the Ministry has formally acknowledged Voldemort's return." Walden's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "He made an apparition, soon after you…” Tony trailed off, looking embarrassed, then cleared his throat. “Harry and Dumbledore fought him right there in the main hall, and Fudge showed up around that time with some Aurors. Fudge resigned, by the way. They're considering Scrimgeour to be appointed Minister in his stead."

"It could be worse, I suppose," Walden said. "But that doesn't help us find Evey. I need to talk to Molly," he went on, walking toward the door purposefully.

Tony stepped in front of him. "Um…Molly's already in bed, Wal. We're in June, you know. The sun sets late."

"Well, that’s just bloody perfect," Walden grumbled. That meant less time for him to look for Evey.

He would never see the sun again, he realised at that moment. That would take some getting used to. That, and the fact that he would have to drink blood. At least he could still eat regular food, unlike Antonin. Unless his brother’s Ancient-ness had somehow affected him more deeply than they assumed.

Damn, what would Evey think of him, if Walden ever saw her again?


	34. Never underestimate the power of denial

It wasn't as bad as Evey had feared. Greyback was gone, for one thing. Before leaving, he'd told her that she could feel free to wander around the prison and meet everyone. She would be safe around his minions, he'd assured her, though he hadn't used that term, of course.

Greyback’s word meaning nothing to Evey, she’d spent the first days of her captivity in her cell, but Scabior had soon let her know that if she wanted to eat, she could bloody well get her own food. They weren't her servants, he said. Evey had skipped the next meal, but her stomach wouldn't allow her to skip another, so she was forced to join everyone in the dining hall for supper. An ominous hush had fallen when she’d entered the room, all the men present staring at her, some of them open-mouthed. Evey had ignored them as best she could, sitting down at the end of a mostly unoccupied table until she realised that she had to fetch her meal at the counter. She could feel every eye on her as she hurried to find a tray. The room was utterly silent. The werewolves didn’t even whisper to each other. Evey even wondered if they were holding their breaths.

The food consisted mainly of meat, and it was very rare, but Evey didn't mind. There was even dessert – a plain vanilla pudding. It wasn't even close to Mrs Weasley's preparations, but it wasn't bad, either. Everyone left her alone as she ate, quickly so she could go back to her cell as soon as she was done. She hoped that she wouldn't have to wash the dishes afterward. Apparently, they had worked out a system to decide who would take care of the various chores, Scabior explained when she returned her empty tray to the counter. Greyback hadn't said anything about involving her, however, so Scabior told her to keep out of it. They could manage without her, thank you very much. Well, Evey certainly wasn't about to complain.

She explored the prison, but she didn’t leave the main building. She didn’t try to escape. It seemed pointless, considering how quickly Greyback had caught up to her that first day. She had to assume that the others would get her without much trouble, either.

After a few days of ignoring everyone and being ignored in return – though thoroughly scrutinised, from a distance – Evey decided that she might as well attempt to get to know some of the werewolves, to gather information at the very least. No one seemed eager to engage her in conversation, however; they were reluctant to answer her questions and were blatantly uncomfortable around her. Scabior was just as close-mouthed as usual, unless Evey had specific questions about life at the prison, and how she fitted into it – his muttered answer: she didn’t.

And then, during Evey’s fourth breakfast in the dining hall – she was carefully counting down the days she spent in Asgard – a short, skinny man asked if he could sit beside her. He looked friendly enough, so Evey gestured for him to proceed. He didn't ask anything about her, who she was or why she was here, but talked at length about himself. Evey assumed that Greyback had forbidden them to ask questions. His name was Jabbar, he was twenty-seven and had been in Asgard for two years. He'd been turned at a late age, at least according to Greyback, who preferred to bite his wolves when they were toddlers.

They were soon joined by several more werewolves. Evey noted that they didn't seem to gather according to race or age, or even their city – or country – of origin. She was introduced to the others and Jabbar was happy to regale her with funny anecdotes about everyone. He was quite a chatterbox, unlike most of his companions. When they were done eating, he offered to give Evey a tour of the facility, which she gratefully accepted. She might pick up some clues as to how she could get the hell out of here. Some of the others decided to tag along.

The prison was even larger than Evey had imagined. Jabbar told her that there were three hundred werewolves living at Asgard at the moment. Three _hundred_ werewolves _._ The thought filled Evey with dismay. Jabbar added that the prison was located in Wales, in Snowdonia. She wondered at the fact that he was allowed to reveal that information, but realised that there was no way she could let anyone know, and the Fidelius would likely prevent her from repeating it in any case, if she managed to escape some day. Still, Evey found it strange that there was a prison in the reservation – Walden had told her that the largest part of Snowdonia belonged to the wizarding world and was home to many species of magical creatures – but, apparently, it had been a facility used mainly during World War II by the Muggle secret services. Jabbar said that they'd even discovered torture chambers in the lower levels, which were now sealed off.

When they were done exploring the main building, Jabbar accompanied her outside and continued his guided tour. "This is where we keep wolves who are having difficulties controlling themselves during the full moon," he explained as they passed what looked like a small brick warehouse.

The windows were obscured so that Evey couldn't distinguish anything inside. "What do you mean, those who can't control themselves? I thought werewolves lost all ability to think or act lucidly when transformed."

That brought sniggers and emphatic shakes of the head from the others. "Control and discipline are the first things the Alpha teaches those who want to join his pack – that is to say, the werewolves he didn't turn himself," Jabbar told her. "The kids are usually better at it. They're more...adaptable."

"The…kids?" Evey repeated with a frown. "You mean werewolves who are about my age?" From what she'd seen so far, the age groups seemed evenly divided: there were boys who were slightly younger than she was, men who could be grandfathers, and every age category in between.

Jabbar and his mates laughed candidly. "No, I mean the cubs." He pointed to a multi-coloured building a little further away. "Come, I'll show you."

When they got closer, Evey could only stare in disbelief. Merlin, there really were children. Not just teenagers, but little ones, as young as 4 or 5. Bloody hell.

Jabbar must have picked up her current mood, although Evey herself wasn't certain how she felt. "Don't worry, they're perfectly safe here," he said reassuringly. "There's always someone to look after them, day and night. There are twenty-two cubs at present. They usually move in the main building when they're 16 – more or less, it depends. Some mature faster than others," he went on with a smirk directed at one of his friends.

Some of the children were reading, Evey could see through the window, while others were apparently working on papers, using Muggle pens and pencils. The smaller kids were playing with various toys – quietly, so as not to bother their elders. "From age 6, they have classes in the morning," Jabbar explained, "except on Sunday. They have homework, though," he added. "The younger ones are taught to read as soon as they're able, but everyone learns how to be a proper werewolf. Fenrir often tutors them himself, especially the newcomers."

"Did he bite them all?" Evey asked with a grimace of revulsion. "Did he take them from their homes himself, or does he send you to do his bidding?" she added nastily. They were being nice to her, but she couldn't help feeling that they weren't treating the matter as they should. These kids had been kidnapped, wrenched from their families, for Merlin's sake! And she didn’t even want to think about what might have befallen said families.

Jabbar and his friends weren't laughing anymore, but they didn't look angry, either. Evey thought she saw pity – pity! – in Jabbar's eyes. "It's not like that. The Alpha only takes in orphans, or children who live in abusive households. Look," he went on earnestly, "we're aware of what everyone thinks of the boss out there. We all know the reputation he's made for himself in the wizarding world, since he openly allied with Voldemort during the First War. But you have to understand that he's nothing like that. He's not some bloodthirsty lunatic. He doesn't hate Muggles. He doesn't even hate wizards."

Like hell he didn't. Then again, Evey didn't know much about Greyback at all – nor did she care to. "If he's not a bloodthirsty lunatic, why did he slaughter my family?" she asked pointedly, arms crossed over her chest. They were all staring at her, frowning. Greyback hadn't told anyone the truth, had he? Hypocritical prick. And of course they weren't going to believe _her_. They would never believe it unless it came from their precious Alpha.

Well, she was wrong about that. "Yeah, Scabior told us about that, but…he seemed to think that they must have disrespected Fenrir, somehow." The man who'd spoken, Croyd, must have realised that Evey was surprised by his reaction. "Oh, we believe you, love. It's just…we've heard the stories, same as everyone else, of what he did during the war, but he had a purpose, then, no matter what everyone thinks. Voldemort is just a means to an end, you see. To further the cause," he said matter-of-factly.

_The cause?_ "What Croyd’s trying to say," Jabbar said, "is that maybe Fenrir acted on Voldemort's orders. Not sure why Voldemort would want you or your family dead, but that's another problem entirely. I'm not condoning anything," he added hastily when he saw the look on her face. "But to be fair, you have no idea what it's like to be a werewolf. Fenrir is trying to change our status in the wizarding world, so that we can be seen as people in our own right and not be persecuted anymore. So that we can go to school like anyone else, have access to the same benefits as the next bloke. Is that really too much to ask?"

Evey didn't know where to start. "First of all, my parents and brother were Muggles. They didn't even know that Greyback _existed_ , so they couldn't have offended him in any way." She looked at them all levelly. "And Greyback already told me that Voldemort wasn't involved. He said it was my _scent_ that caused him to act as he did, whatever that means," she said with a contemptuous sniff. "Secondly, how in the blazes is killing people going to help with your image in any way?" she said, incredulity tinting her voice. “How does it aid your…cause?”

"It's not the killing that helps, it's Voldemort himself," Croyd muttered. "We don't like the bloody snake any more than you do, you know, but he promised us equal rights, when he rises to power. Nobody else ever promised us that. Hell, no one’s ever bothered to even mention us."

Evey slowly massaged her temples. "You must be the only people in the universe who still believe in promises made by power-hungry men who seek to rule over everyone else. In the Muggle world, we call them politicians," she said with a smirk. "Seriously, how can you trust a word Voldemort says? Don't you know how he treats those he calls Half-breeds, or magical beings in general? He despises everyone who isn't a Pure-blood witch or wizard. He might make use of them, mind, but he considers them as expendables, and in the end he will discard them – or destroy them, depending on his mood at the time, I suspect. And that includes werewolves." How could they not understand this? "Don't you see that Voldemort is taking advantage of Greyback, of you? Now, I'm willing to accept that perhaps Greyback has been magically influenced, but why does everyone here happily plays along with it all as if associating with Grindelwald's heir were perfectly normal? He can't have gotten to _all_ of you," she said with a trace of despair.

"We're not under anyone's spell!" Croyd barked at her, fists clenching at his sides. He moved to take a step forward, but froze mid-motion when Jabbar let out a low growl. Croyd retreated quickly, eyes downcast.

Evey didn't flinch at his vehemence. She'd managed to keep her cool around Greyback; she certainly wasn't about to let herself be intimated by a mere subordinate. "Then you must be plain stupid," she said with a twisted smile. Without waiting for a retort, she turned on her heels and made her way back to her cell – without getting lost once, she noted proudly.


	35. Du riechst so gut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mentions of cannibalism.

Fenrir watched the girl while she slept, wishing that he could puzzle her out just by looking at her. She was curled up in foetal position and snoring softly, although the faint sound was drowned under the other wolves who were sawing logs down the corridor.

Fenrir had tasked Scabior with identifying men who knew what Amortentia was and what it smelled like, to them, and his second had found three – there weren't many wizards amongst Fenrir’s pack. They all agreed that the girl was the love potion made flesh, which didn't make any bloody sense. Fenrir had spent most of his time outside to research the matter, notably in London's largest wizarding library, but he'd come up with nothing useful. He would go to Leipzig when he had more time. Their library contained much older records; he might find something relevant there.

Jabbar had recounted what had happened when he'd showed the girl around the place, and what she'd said. It appeared that the girl was avoiding everyone, following that scene. Well, if she wished to cut herself off from everyone else, it was her problem.

The girl roused from her sleep, stretching, and turned around, a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn. She startled when she noticed Fenrir standing there and sat up rigidly, fitting the covers around her until only her head was visible. Fenrir snorted and moved forward, then leaned against the inner wall of her cell, hands in his pockets. "Exactly why do you think I’m here, girl? I’m not interested in you. Not like that."

Her face drained of all colour. “Bloody hell, I hadn’t even _considered_ …” She gulped audibly. “Gods, you really are revolting. I just figured, the more body parts I cover, the less likely you are to _eat_ them. I never thought…” She shuddered, but Fenrir guessed that she was just being overly dramatic. Honestly…he'd almost forgotten about it. About eating her – well, parts of her. He’d been so shocked to see her alive that his mind had discarded these minor details. In any case, that night was a bit blurry.

Before he could say anything, however, the girl went on. "Seriously, I just don’t get it. It wasn't even the full moon, so you don't have _that_ excuse. I don't understand. Won't you at least explain _why_ you did it? Why _me_? They're all so certain that there is a rational explanation," she added with a sour twist of her mouth.

"Whether the moon is full or not matters little to me. I was transformed when I bit you," he told her quietly. He chose not to reply to the multitude of other questions – at least for now. _Let us see what she makes of that, first._

As he might’ve expected, she sniffed disdainfully. "Of course," she said flatly. "The godly Fenrir Greyback doesn't need the full moon to turn into a werewolf. Silly me."

Without even bothering to convince her verbally, Fenrir shifted to his wolf form – well, only his head. His clothes wouldn't survive a full transformation, and he'd already ruined one shirt because of her. This would suffice, anyway, judging by her reaction. She gaped at him, fear and disbelief suffusing in her scent. Fenrir shifted back and ran a hand through his hair.

The girl closed her eyes for a second. “It doesn’t make any bloody sense,” she muttered, likely unaware that Fenrir could hear her quite clearly - and that she was echoing his earlier thoughts. Then her eyes sprang open again, as though she were afraid that he would attack while her eyes were closed. She recovered more quickly than he'd anticipated. In a moment she was all cool contempt again, her lips pursed, though she still looked pale in the poor lighting of her cell. “That doesn’t answer my other questions,” she noted.

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing," he said simply. He barely remembered any of it, in fact. Her scent was still sharp in his mind, however. Forcing him onwards to her house, teasing him, _summoning_ him. It was different now, though.

The girl stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, as if the blunt answer had shocked her, but she made no wry remark. "You have to understand – I already told you this – it’s your scent," Fenrir went on. "It's…what's the word…alluring? No, no, that’s wrong. Compelling. Yes, that's it. Irresistible." He looked down at her. "We've concluded that your scent is like Amortentia. With our enhanced sense of smell, you can imagine the effects."

"Right," she said slowly. “I smelled like a love potion, and that made you want to eat me. Yeah. That seems perfectly reasonable.” She scoffed. “Although, to be fair, I’d rather be eaten than…anything else, all things considered.”

"Your scent was calling to me," Fenrir continued, ignoring her comment, "and I was miles away from your house, you know. Not even in your town. It literally drove me to your front door. When I got in, however, the scent permeated the whole place. I couldn't tell whose scent it was. I went to your room first, thinking you might be the source, because it seemed stronger there, but I saw that you were a girl and initially dismissed you. I sensed your wand, though, so I removed it from the drawer – a mere precaution. I went to your parents' bedroom, but I didn't think it was them, either. Well, I never considered it might be your mother, of course. I knew that the boy was awake, so I was reluctant to open his door. It didn't seem to be him, though. It was quite confusing. I returned to your parents to compare his scent to your father's, but your mother woke up. I didn't stop to think. I couldn't risk them rousing the whole neighbourhood." Their deaths had been quick. Fenrir couldn't afford the seconds it would take for him to shift, so he'd simply used the Killing Curse. "Afterwards, I heard the boy move and go to you, and I listened to what you were saying, up to the point where you advised him to jump out of the window. I couldn't risk losing him – by that time I had persuaded myself that he was the one I was tracking – so I stepped in." Fenrir paused, considering his next words, but realised that it didn't matter how much he told her. "The scent I was picking up, you see, I could tell it was a werewolf's." The girl frowned. How to explain it to her? "I can tell who can be turned into a werewolf and who cannot. Your scent-"

"That's ridiculous,” she interrupted him. “Werewolves don't know if their bite will have the expected effect beforehand. I mean, if they knew…if they've known all along…" Her eyes widened, but she had it all wrong.

"It's just me, girl. It's my special talent," Fenrir said ruefully. In his early years as a werewolf, he'd hoped that the younglings he turned himself might inherit his ability, but none of them had, so far. "I'm not sure what happened next," he went on. "When I walked into your room, I finally understood that you were the one, by contrast to your brother's blander scent – although he had what it takes to be one of us – but the sheer proximity of you, it made me…lose control. I can't rightly explain it," he admitted out loud, for the first time since it'd happened. “Your scent…it _urged_ me to bite you, to _turn_ you, no matter how ridiculous the idea, but once I’d sunk my teeth into your flesh, I couldn’t stop myself. Things got out of hand.” He smiled in what he hoped was an apologetic manner. He did feel bad; not about biting her, precisely, but about losing control. That should never have happened.

"Are you…trying to imply that it's _my_ fault?" she demanded indignantly.

Fenrir shrugged. If someone had to be blamed… "I've never lost control before. It must be something you did, or perhaps it's just what you are. Either way, it certainly wasn't my fault."

"I can't fucking believe this," the girl grumbled. "And if that's the case, why aren't you raving right now, being so close to me? How am I still in one piece?"

"The…coercive part of the scent…vanished after I was done with you," he said softly. "I assumed it was because you were dying," Fenrir added with a grimace. Granted, she’d been alive when he’d left the house, when his bloodlust or whatever it was had finally dissipated, but no one should have survived the wounds he'd inflicted her. "Now I think that whatever I turned you into must have altered your scent. Perhaps the bloodsucker bite modified it even further." He still didn't know who the mysterious Ancient was. He'd…interviewed several vampires in the past few days, but few of them were even aware of the Ancients' existence, and those who did had never met any of them in person. It had been a complete waste of his time, just like the countless hours spent at the library.

The girl was shaking her head. "Coercive scent or not, I still blame _you_ , wolf. Attacking me because of my scent was one thing, but you butchered my family in cold blood, and I'll see that you pay for that. One way or another, I will," she said fiercely.

Fenrir hadn't expected anything less. He would have felt the same way, had the situation been reversed. In fact, he was quite familiar with the situation, and had indeed reacted as she had. It didn't worry him in the least, however. There was nothing she could do. If she'd considered killing herself, she'd obviously discarded the idea already. Not out of cowardice, Fenrir surmised; if she died alone in her cell, she'd have no way of knowing if her plan had worked, if Fenrir had died with her. She didn't want to die in vain, without the certain knowledge that she'd avenged her family in the process. It seemed to be the only thing that she cared about, vengeance, and Fenrir could relate to the sentiment only too well.

But it was about time he got around to the reason he'd returned to Asgard and come to talk to her in the first place. "Tomorrow's the full moon," he announced lightly. "Well, tonight," he amended. It was nearly five in the morning.

Before he could give her the details, she spoke again. "Where do you get enough Wolfsbane to supply the entire pack?" she asked with a faint scowl.

Fenrir barked a rough laugh. "We don't use that shit," he said scornfully. "It only makes it worse, you know, in the long run. You feel like you're getting used to the inner beast, like you can control it, but if you skip the potion just once… That's when wolves go berserk and start hurting people. Considering the price and difficulty of obtaining the potion, it does more harm than good. We don't have such trouble here in Asgard. My men are disciplined, and they possess the necessary detachment from their werewolf alter ego. They know what they're doing. No human has ever been harmed around here, not by my wolves. Of course, few people ever venture in these parts in the middle of the night," he admitted.

"So what, you just hang out in the prison all night? Marking your territory? Chasing your tails?" she said with a sneer.

Fenrir sighed. Now he could see just what Scabior meant by _She's a bloody pain in the arse_. She used sarcasm as a coping mechanism. "We hunt, _Schatz_. There are wards in place in the woods, to make sure Muggles don't stumble upon us, and most wizards know better than to enter a forest during the full moon, especially a reservation. We prey on animals. We take down the occasional troll. We're careful not to harm the unicorns, though. There are too few as it is."

"You just let your werewolves roam the woods freely?" she asked in horror. "All three hundreds of them, at the same time?"

Fenrir nodded. " _Genau_. Now, it's entirely up to you, but you may want to close the gate of your cell for the night. No one will come anywhere near you, but you may feel safer, I suppose."

"You bet I want the door closed," she said. "All the doors, preferably. Can't you just put the prison under lockdown or something while you're outside?"

He chuckled. "Girl, you are safe here. Even if we decided to remain inside, you'd still be safe." She just couldn't believe that werewolves could be civilised, could she? Maybe he ought to take her with them in the woods. She would see then that they were perfectly able to restrain themselves.

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it," she said scathingly, glaring at him.

Fenrir felt the last remnants of his patience dwindle. Come to think of it, it was probably better for her to fear them, and him most of all. She was too cheeky for Fenrir’s taste. It seemed a good idea to subdue that part of her. "You will have to watch your tone when you address me, _Fratz_. I've allowed your impudence long enough. I've done what I could to make you feel at home here, the least you can do is be civil in return."

"At _home_?" she repeated incredulously. "I have no home, thanks to you," she snapped at him. "And what if I don't comply, huh? What are you going to do about it? Repeatedly stab yourself in the liver?" she said crookedly. "I will get used to the pain, eventually."

She hadn't looked so confident the other day, when he  _had_ stabbed himself in the liver. Fenrir gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment. He certainly wasn't about to do anything of the sort. He had only so many shirts, after all. "Maybe I’ll consider another form of torture," he said idly. "The kind you hadn’t considered until very recently, perhaps? Would you get used to _that_ , you pretty little thing?"

That shut her up, at least.


	36. The problem is your attitude about the problem

Walden didn’t have much trouble adjusting to his new, nocturnal life – he'd always kept odd hours, thanks to his job – but for the fact that he couldn't speak to anyone except Antonin. It wasn't that he felt the need of other people's presence, but he wanted to discuss with someone from the Order, anyone, to figure out exactly what they were doing about the Evey situation.

She'd been taken a month ago now. She could be dead, Walden knew, but he hoped that Greyback might keep her alive when he realised that she'd survived him once already. He might be intrigued, and thus decide not to kill her. The werewolf was a rough man, but he wasn't stupid. He would see that she could prove valuable.

Unfortunately, that might lead him to let Voldemort know about Evey. Walden couldn't decide which alternative was the worst: that Evey was already dead, that Greyback might be torturing her, or worse, that the werewolf might have turned her in to the Dark Lord… Gods. Walden tried really hard not to think about any of that, instead keeping busy at night and focusing on finding clues as to where Evey could be, and how to rescue her, but sometimes his mind wandered, sending flashes of all the possible things that Evey might be suffering right this moment.

His only consolation these days was Nana, who clearly understood that something was wrong and kept close to him at all times. The Newfoundland had been puzzled at first, when she'd first seen Walden after he emerged from his transformation. His scent must have been altered after he became a vampire. Nana had been hesitant, almost frightened by him, but she'd come around eventually, to Walden's deepest relief.

He wasn't afraid of accidentally stepping into a patch of sunlight during the day. He felt himself starting to doze off the moment the sky began to clear, and he didn't stir at all until it was pitch black outside. He slept – literally – like the dead. Nothing short of someone ripping away the curtains would disturb his rest. Being in direct contact with the sun would mean certain death – true death – unless Tony managed to get him out in time, which was unlikely, as regular vampires burned like kindling fuelled by gasoline.

Drinking blood was not quite as terrible as he'd imagined. When the blood was at room temperature, it was drinkable, though Walden still made sure to eat some regular food at the same time, to wash the metallic taste out of his mouth. All he had to do was avoid garlic. It wasn't lethal to him, but it made him itch uncontrollably. Molly and the others made certain that there were always sufficient quantities of blood at the vampires’ disposal – unlike his brother, Walden needed to feed every day, and the Order still believed that Antonin fed off the animal blood that they provided. Despite his brother’s claim that there was nothing to be worried about, Walden feared that the lack of human blood would soon become problematic. Tony hadn’t fed since the battle at the Ministry – even for an Ancient, a month without blood was a long time, and Tony starkly refused to consider Molly or anyone else as a source of nourishment. The official reason was that it would mean revealing _why_ he needed human blood, but Walden suspected that he simply couldn’t stand the thought of asking such a horrible favour of the Weasley family, after everything he’d already done to them. If Walden didn’t watch it, his brother might let himself starve rather than do what was necessary – and that would be a hundred times more harmful than refusing to feed. Vampires went feral when they got hungry - thirsty? - and Tony was no mere vampire.

Still, as long as Tony behaved normally, Walden was willing to put the matter aside. There were more pressing issues.

He had requested a meeting with the remaining members of the Order – Emmeline Vance had been murdered the week before, and Sirius was gone – but they were clearly stalling. The person he really wanted to see was Remus Lupin, but the werewolf had apparently been sent on a specific mission and would be unavailable for some time. The kids were back from school, although at present only Ron and Ginny were at the Burrow, as well as Molly's eldest son, Bill, and his fiancée, Fleur Delacour. Walden had yet to meet her, but Tony had declared that she was the most beautiful woman on earth – before finding out that she was actually part Veela, so she was cheating, he'd amended. Arthur was busy at the Ministry, and so were other members of the Order, like Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, who'd been appointed to the new Prime Minister's office staff. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter should be here in a few days, according to Tony. Maybe Dumbledore would deign to show himself at some point.

Well, if no one was going to accede to his request, Walden would have to make himself heard – and the only way to achieve that was to act through Antonin. He made his brother ask Molly to remain downstairs until Walden woke up.

When he walked into the kitchen that night, Molly was sitting at the dining table with her future daughter-in-law, who was chattering with a heavy French accent that reminded Walden of Jeanne's. Molly looked stricken, but Walden knew that she was too polite to interrupt the girl. Tony claimed that Molly and her daughter weren't particularly fond of Bill's wife-to-be. Tony himself thought that she was quite nice, but he'd always had a weak spot for beautiful women, no matter their personalities.

She _was_ beautiful, Walden noted idly, though blondes had never much appealed to him. Fleur started slightly when she noticed him, and Molly seemed almost relieved by the interruption.

"Ah, there you are," she said briskly. "Fleur, dear, if you don't mind, Walden and I must speak privately for a moment." She sounded cordial enough, but her tone was quite firm and brooked no argument. The French woman gave Walden a keen, blue-eyed look before moving up the stairs and he heard her gasp a second later when she must have almost run into Antonin.

His brother was grinning widely when he sat down at the table a moment later. "Alright, you got your meeting," he told Walden. "Best not to keep Molly waiting."

Walden sat across from the Weasley matriarch. "Molly, I really need to know that the Order is doing everything it can to find Evey." He hesitated, but there was no reason to conceal their relationship at this point. "She's more important to me than you know," he went on softly.

Molly surprised him by patting his hand. "I do know, dear. Antonin told me that you were engaged when they brought you back here after that awful business at the Ministry. He explained that it was why he turned you, even though he knew that you would disapprove."

Walden stared at her in astonishment, then turned briefly to his brother, who avoided his gaze. That wasn't the explanation he'd received. And Molly had known for a _month_? Why did she look so understanding? Walden had assumed that she would be on the warpath when she found out, given their age difference. Perhaps Molly’s obvious distaste toward Bill's fiancée had something to do with this unexpected reaction. Walden cleared his throat, gathering his thoughts. "I…well, in any case, Tony wasn't very clear on the measures deployed to search for Evey," he said, trying to get the conversation back on tracks.

Molly gave him a rueful smile. "I'm afraid everyone has their hands full at the moment, but Remus is still hoping to pick up some clues as he infiltrates the werewolves' network."

Walden blinked in shock. They sent _Lupin_ to infiltrate the network? Granted, he _was_ a werewolf, but no one would ever take him seriously, Greyback least of all. Fenrir could sniff out a lie a mile away, and he knew precisely who Lupin was besides. Molly seemed so earnest, however, that Walden tried his best to mask his consternation. "And um…any luck? Which pack has he joined? Have you heard from him recently?" Walden prompted her. There was no way that Lupin would have made it into Greyback’s pack, but perhaps if he managed to get into one of the other, smaller ones… Well, it was a long shot. Greyback had no allies outside of his own pack. He didn’t need any; his pack was the largest in the kingdom, and possibly in all of Europe.

Molly shook her head. "Not since he left, no, and I have no idea where he is, or what he's doing. I'm sorry, Walden. I wish I could tell you that we're going to find Evey soon, but I can't. Believe me, I want her back at least as much as you do." Of anyone else, he wouldn't have thought it possible, but this was Molly. She had a tendency to care – and worry, often as not – about everyone close to her, family or not. That had always been her weakness – or her strength, arguably.

"Is Arthur back from the Ministry yet?” Walden asked. “He might have heard something from Tonks or Shacklebolt."

"He's still at the office. He works very late, these days. He shouldn't exhaust himself like that," Molly went on anxiously. "He's not as young as he seems to think."

"Do you have any idea when Dumbledore will come by?" he said, feeling almost desperate.

"He said he would bring Harry here at the end of the month, if everything went according to plan," Molly replied. "But I doubt he'll stay very long."

"If he comes during the day, will you please tell him to either wait for me to wake up, or to get in touch at night sometime? We really need to search for her more actively. Aren't there any other werewolves working for the Order, or allies who are willing to help? Do you think Dumbledore would allow us to go outside to–"

"Walden, dear, I have no idea. I don't know as much as you seem to think, and I haven't seen Albus since we relocated the Headquarters here at the Burrow. You will have to be patient, I'm afraid."

"Patient?" he repeated incredulously. "Molly, Evey could be dead already! Hell, she probably is. But I won't rest until I find out, you mark my words."

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. "Alright mate, calm down. It's not her fault. I'm sure everyone is doing what they can. And Evey is not the frail little girl Greyback would expect her to be. I wouldn't be surprised if he's regretting kidnapping her already," he said in an obvious attempt to clear the air.

"Antonin is right," Molly said. For a moment, she seemed taken aback that she'd agreed with his brother, but she recovered quickly. "Evey is quite capable. She can take care of herself. I'm sure she will be alright, until we can rescue her. And we will," she added firmly.

Despite Molly’s reassuring words, Walden decided that he would sneak out, starting that very night, and search for Evey himself. He had learned nothing relevant tonight and, as far as he could tell, no one was entirely focused on finding his fiancée. Aware of Lupin’s reluctance to mingle with his own kind in the past, Walden figured that he was probably more knowledgeable about packs’ dynamics than the werewolf, and he knew many Alphas personally. He wasn’t sure if they’d agree to talk to him, given his new…condition, but it was worth a try.

Walden couldn’t stay idle any longer. He couldn’t wait for other people to do for him what he should have been doing from the beginning.


	37. Quid pro quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: torture implied. Again.

Fenrir grimaced when he picked up the newcomer's scent. What the fuck did _he_ want?

A middle-aged man entered his office a moment later, without bothering to knock. He carried himself proudly, rigidly. His features were plain, with a square jaw and a large forehead. He sported a well-trimmed white beard that contrasted with his deeply tanned skin.

"Well, well," Fenrir said with a smirk, "if it isn't Elephant Man himself."

"Your sense of humour never ceases to amaze," the other werewolf replied blandly.

"What do you want, Barca?" Fenrir growled.

"It's Whiptail to you, cub. I'm here to pass along a warning. We cautioned you last time, Greyback. You must forget these inane notions that your misguided maker instilled in you. It isn't our way. We use the gift to turn, not to kill. We have the ability to recognise those who can be transformed safely, and it is therefore our responsibility to use it for that purpose, and that purpose only. With _moderation_." He must be referring to the attack on that Half-blood family two nights ago. Fenrir snorted in disbelief. He’d followed the guidelines, burn the man. It was hardly his fault that the little boy hadn’t survived the bite – even he couldn’t predict _that_. The kid had the spark, but he'd been too weak to be transcended. It happened. It was hardly worth making a fuss, let alone showing up at Asgard with a formal admonition.

"We tolerate the fact that you serve the dark wizard – although few of us approve – but some things simply won’t be allowed," the man who had once been known as Hannibal Barca said in a chastising tone. Fenrir had never known anyone so tedious. He was even worse than Moonsinger. And those _idiotic_ epithets… Bloody hell. Fenrir often felt like he was the only sane one among them. "Tread carefully, cub. We wouldn't want to have to put you down. There are too few of us as it is, and we’ve already had to distance ourselves from your maker."

"I don't _serve_ Voldemort," Fenrir barked fiercely when Barca finally stopped rambling. "I serve _us_. All werewolves. I serve our cause. What's the point of using the gift and turning so many, if they have no rights, if they're constantly persecuted? As their betters, we have a responsibility toward them and, as far as I can see, I'm the only one who's doing anything about the situation." _Verdammt!_ It was one thing to hear that sort of talk from the girl, but from a supposed…well, not a friend, not quite, but from a fellow werewolf…it was frustrating.

_Scheiße_ , Fenrir thought suddenly. _Do they know about the girl?_ Whiptail might have detected her scent when he’d walked inside the building; it stood out, even amongst that of the hundreds of wolves gathered in Asgard.

If the older man had sensed anything out of the ordinary, however, he didn't mention it. "Heed my words, Greyback," Barca exhorted him. "Our patience has its limits." With that, he turned on his heels and marched out of the room.

They were unto him. Fenrir would have to be careful, that much was certain. He didn’t have his maker to protect him, this time, and he had no other ally amongst his own kind.

The girl was his. Whatever happened, he wouldn't let them have her – at least not until he’d figured out what she was.

* * *

There had been no incident during the first full moon Evey had spent at Asgard. No werewolf had wandered inside the building – or at least, nowhere near Evey’s cell. She'd heard faint howls coming from outside, but that had been the extent of it.

After their latest conversation and Greyback's threats, Evey had decided that it would be wiser to keep her mouth shut around the Alpha. He might have been bluffing, but he was the one who could – supposedly – sniff out lies, not her. In any case, she hadn't seen much of him since that day.

She'd resolved to give another try to befriending the other werewolves. She’d taken a seat at Jabbar’s table a few days after the full moon – Greyback had warned her that everyone might be a little cranky for a while – and had been relieved when he’d simply engaged in cheerful small talk. Evey had hoped that she might change their minds about Greyback after recounting the details of their conversation about the night her family was murdered, but they merely looked troubled. They hadn’t commented on her story, but perhaps it would at least cause them to question their Alpha and his supposed righteousness. Anything Evey could do to undermine Greyback was potentially profitable to her.

Now, a month and a half into her captivity, Evey had been adopted by most of the pack. She wasn't sure what influence she might have over them, but at least they weren't afraid of her anymore. She had been stunned to learn that _that_ was why they'd been reluctant to talk to her. How could they be afraid of her? She was utterly helpless, unable to do any magic, and only a smidge bigger than the kids.

Evey had enquired further about the exact nature of the werewolves’ alliance with Voldemort. It was clear that they resented him – Greyback included – and she was therefore curious to know what had initially led the Alpha to strike a deal with the dark wizard. As it turned out, it hadn't started out that way at all.

Croyd explained that Voldemort had captured Greyback during the early days of the First War, although how he had managed that remained obscure. Black magic had been involved, assuredly. Back in those days, Voldemort took what he wanted by force. It probably never occurred to him that he could make a deal with the werewolves until it was pointed out to him much later – by Greyback himself.

Voldemort wanted to study werewolves, to experiment on them, to make them his own creatures, and Greyback was, by all accounts, the most fearsome of them all. Voldemort had had several of his partisans search for a way to neutralise him, to control him. Croyd and his mates had sniggered at that. As if anyone could tame the Alpha, they’d said derisively. As the Death Eaters made no progress, the project was eventually discarded and Greyback was left in a cell to rot. Security around him grew lax. Wards weren't kept in place as they should have been. Greyback escaped, mangling eight Death Eaters in the process, only to make his way to Voldemort. He proposed a deal: to lend his services to the wizard in exchange for his promise that werewolves would be given equal rights once Voldemort ruled over England. Soon after that incident, Croyd went on, Voldemort's methods of recruiting had become somewhat more diplomatic, thanks to Rookwood and that Scottish bloke he sent out to enlist magical beings and creatures. _Walden_ , Evey thought ruefully. Croyd said that he’d met Walden himself and, although he was obviously not doing this of his own free will, or not entirely, he certainly had a knack for it.

Evey had expected another visit from Greyback before the second full moon, but it was Scabior who came to find her. She was in the yard, playing basketball with a few werewolves – Evey was all but useless, but whatever outdoors activity they picked, they were all faster and stronger than she was. She'd always been a sore loser, but was quickly learning to accept defeat with a smile. She didn't have much choice.

"Fenrir wants to see you," Scabior grumbled. Everyone had interrupted what they were doing when Greyback's second had entered the courtyard, and they all kept their eyes on the ground, just like they did whenever the Alpha was around. Evey was getting used to that and was slowly figuring out how their hierarchy worked. Well, hierarchy seemed a fancy word for it. The way they explained it, or tried to, it sounded more like they'd had a pissing contest and thus determined who was more “dominant”.

_Men_. Evey had laughed it off, but she suspected that it was close to the truth.

When she entered Greyback's office, however, she fixed the Alpha straight in the eyes. She would be civil – to the best of her ability – but she would _not_ lower her eyes. She would not give him the satisfaction.

It only made him chuckle. "You do realise that it doesn't matter if _you_ do that, don't you?" he asked with blatant amusement. "I don't expect proper respect from anyone outside the pack, and even less from you. It doesn't make you look defiant, if that's what you were hoping to achieve."

Evey made no reply. She had _not_ realised that. From the shocked – and sometimes frightful – glances she received from some werewolves whenever she glared at Scabior, it seemed to have the desired effect, as far as she was concerned. But Scabior was not Greyback.

"Anyway," the Alpha went on in a more business-like tone, "you know that the full moon is approaching, but that doesn't really concern you. Scabior will lock you up, if you want." He made a dismissive gesture. "What I wanted to ask is the name of the so-called Ancient that the Order of the Phoenix is currently harbouring."

Did he, now? And that after dismissing the matter when Evey had first arrived here. He must have tried to puzzle it out on his own and failed.

"Does Dumbledore know what she is?” he went on. “And for that matter, how much do _you_ know, exactly?" _She_. He still believed that the Ancient was a woman. But why was he suddenly asking after Antonin? Had something happened? Evey had no idea what was going outside of the prison. Although, if Greyback was mentioning the Order and Dumbledore, it hopefully meant that they were still operating.

"You can do whatever you want to me, I will never tell you who she is." Evey seized the opportunity to comfort him in his idea that it was indeed a woman, like most Ancients. How did Greyback even know about them? Perhaps Tony shouldn’t feel so guilty about accidentally spilling out secrets – he clearly wasn’t the only one with a loose tongue. "I mean it. I won't tell you anything about her," she said firmly, feeling a lot less confident than she let on. She did her best to keep her expression blank, but wasn't certain how successful she was. Truth be told, she had no idea how much pain and degradation she could withstand. And Greyback could probably tell that she was bluffing, anyway, just from the subtle increase of her heartbeat, or whatever it was that gave a lie away. "I'll tell you how much the others know if you answer one question, though," she went on in an attempt to deviate the conversation.

He arched an eyebrow. "And what would that be? Not that you’re in a position to negotiate, but I’m curious."

Now that the moment had finally come to ask the dreaded question, Evey hesitated. But she had to know. "When you captured me at the Ministry, you said _There goes Macnair_. You said it as if he were dead. But he's not, is he?" She couldn't help her voice from rising slightly. She'd wanted to ask him that for weeks; she’d investigated among the rest of the pack, but they didn’t know anything.

Greyback frowned, obviously taken aback by the question. "He's dead, alright,” he said slowly. “Blasted by a Killing Curse. He was dead before he hit the floor." His face was utterly devoid of emotion as he told her that her fiancé was dead.

Evey closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. _Don’t cry,_ she admonished herself. _Don’t let him see how much it hurts. Don’t show weakness._ She didn’t have any reason to believe him, anyway. She _wouldn't_ believe, not until she saw for herself. It was still a hard blow. She shook away the images of Walden sprawled motionless on the cold stone floor that assailed her mind and opened her eyes, which remained mercifully dry. "Fine,” she said crisply. “I don't know how much Dumbledore knows. I haven't seen him since…" She thought about it for a moment. "…not since I woke up after our initial encounter, actually.” A year, or near enough. Had it really been that long? “The other members of the Order never mentioned it, nor made any remark that might lead me to believe that they know."

"But _you_ know," Greyback stated. Evey nodded curtly. It wasn't really a question, anyway. "Alright. Let's put your imaginary defiance to the test, then, if you insist," he said as he stood and picked up a sharp-looking knife. No blunt letter opener this time. This time, it wasn’t a mere warning.

_Bloody hell, he's really going to do it, isn't he?_ Evey thought in dismay. He seriously intended to harm himself in order to make her talk. She closed her eyes once again and, for the first time in her life, she prayed. Not to any modern, Muggle god, but to all of the ancient ones. The ones who actually existed. _Give me strength. Give me courage. Give me-_

The pain soon wiped out any thought or prayer from her mind.


	38. Doch nur ein Tier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should put a trigger warning for a potentially sensitive topic, but that would be a spoiler. Just…proceed with caution.

If she'd had any idea what Greyback intended to do when she’d stepped into his office earlier, Evey wouldn't have asked about Walden at all. The same mantra was going through her mind, on repeat since she’d had an answer to her question:

_Walden is alive. Walden is alive. Walden is alive. He_ has _to be._

She was lying on the floor, panting hard. How long had they been at this? The pain from the wounds vanished after a few moments, whether Evey blacked out or not, but she was feeling cramped all over and exhausted from the ruthless torment her body was being put through. As she placed her hand on the carpet to push herself back to her feet, it exuded blood. The carpet was ruined, that was for sure. Her clothes, too.

She hadn't talked. Not yet, anyway. At times, she'd felt like giving up, but something had always held her back. She wasn't even certain why it mattered so much to keep Antonin’s name a secret – Greyback would likely find out, sooner or later. Was it really worth all that pain?

But it was. Because Tony would have done the same for her, had the situation been reversed. Evey was acting out of sheer moral principle, like a lawful good character in any story – the very type of character she had always found ridiculous.

As Evey gingerly sat in the chair, waiting for the next wave of fresh agony, she realised that Greyback was gazing at her with what looked like wonder in his eyes. Thankfully, he hadn't done anything but tear her flesh apart, so far. That wasn't something Evey would normally be thankful for, but considering the alternative… She shuddered at the thought.

" _Gottverdammt_ ," Greyback muttered. He didn't look so good himself. He'd removed his shirt a while ago and thrown the shreds into the garbage can. His massive chest was bloody and, although the gashes he'd opened recently had disappeared, he was riddled with older scars. It seemed that his past had been as violent as his present was.

"Are you quite done?" Evey asked flatly, hoping that he wouldn’t catch the faint tremor in her voice. "I'm hungry." She was more tired than hungry, but she was just speaking in useless defiance at this point. Anything to delay the next-

Greyback surprised her by bursting with sudden laughter. "You're unbelievable," he said, shaking his head. "Alright, let's call it a day," he added with a shrug. "But you do realise that I'll learn her name sooner or later, don't you? You can't protect her forever. You’re suffering in vain, little girl."

_Not entirely in vain, you twat, if you still believe that I’m withholding a woman’s name_. "And you can't keep butchering yourself like that, you fucking demented Nazi," she countered wearily. His face hardened, all trace of mirth vanished in an instant. Odd. Evey had been calling him names from the moment she’d set foot here, but never before had he reacted to it.

"Do you call _Nazi_ everyone with a German accent, or am I receiving special treatment?" he asked in a low growl.

Evey was blushing in shame before she could stop herself. She had only used that term as an insult once in her life, when she was too young to comprehend it. She hadn't understood what it meant, then, but her parents had explained, after chiding her. They had always explained why something was forbidden, unhealthy, or otherwise advised against. She wasn't sure why she'd used it now. Perhaps it _was_ the accent, she thought bashfully. But, to be fair, the man had just spent the better part of the morning torturing her. And he _was_ demented, at least. "No, not everyone," she replied crisply, "only those with a murderous streak."

Slowly, Greyback raised his left arm and pointed to the tattoo that was inked on the inside of his upper forearm. He had several other tattoos, large and with no meaning that Evey could think of – the tasteless sort of tattoo that she despised. The one he was showing her now was different, however. It was very poorly executed, quite faded, and represented a number.

A six-digit number. _That's impossible_ , Evey thought incredulously. _He's too young._

He must have sensed that she recognised it for what it was. "You should never use that word lightly, little girl."

"But it doesn't make any sense!" she exclaimed. "You're…what…forty-five? Fifty? You can't have been in Auschwitz during the War. Even if you were, you were just a kid. I doubt that they bothered to tattoo the children," she said.

"No, indeed not. Most of the children were sent to the gas chambers. Unless they were twins," Greyback said with a sour twist of his mouth.

Twins? Oh, of course. Josef Mengele, the Angel of Death, had operated at Auschwitz in the last years of the War. He was a…doctor, a researcher. He was said to have a particular interest in genetics applied to twins, among others, and Auschwitz provided him with plenty of human test subjects. "You…had a twin?" Evey asked uncertainly. Merlin, why was she pursuing the conversation? She didn't want to hear this.

"I had twin daughters," he replied softly.

Bloody hell. What had she gotten herself into? But… "How could you have had kids?" she said with a frown. “It doesn’t add up.”

"I was thirty-two when they brought us to the camp. I'm eighty-five now." That delivered as if he were commenting on the weather.

"What tosh," Evey scoffed. "Werewolves are not slow-ageing, and they're certainly not immortal."

"Neither are vampires," Greyback said crookedly.

And then the Knut finally dropped. How had she missed it? Of course he was not an ordinary werewolf. He hadn't even tried to hide it from her. Damn, it should have been obvious from the beginning. _Burn me,_ _he's some sort of Ancient_.

"Well, I don’t use that term,” Greyback said, interrupting her train of thoughts. “For obvious reasons."

Evey hadn't realised that she’d spoken out loud. She tried to gather her wits. There were so many questions… But would he answer them? "What _do_ you call yourself, then? An Elder, like in the children's books? That’s what you are, isn’t it? The werewolf equivalent of an Ancient."

He shook his head. "I don't use that word, either. None of us do. We rarely refer to ourselves as a collective, as a matter of fact. Although some of us decided that we should have nicknames, like the bloodsuckers." He didn’t seem too happy about that.

"Greyback." She’d always assumed that 'Fenrir Greyback' had to be a made-up name, and she’d been right, clearly.

"Can you think of anything more ridiculous?" he demanded scornfully. "Honestly. I don’t know what they were thinking."

"That's why you call yourself Fenrir."

"Much more fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Evey made a mental note to _never_ call him Fenrir. "What's your real name, then?" In spite of everything, she was growing more curious by the minute.

Greyback waved the question aside. "That is irrelevant.”

"I suppose it is," she conceded. "I take it that you didn't become a werewolf in Auschwitz. I know that they studied and experimented on werewolves there, at some point, but if you kept the appearance you had when you were turned…"

"I was turned later, yes. In the fifties. When the camp was liberated, my physique was not quite what it is now, as you can imagine. You seem to know an awful lot about concentration camps," he went on shrewdly. "Morbid fascination?”

"Duty of remembrance," Evey retorted. Greyback chuckled wryly. "Did you kill him?" she went on, undeterred.

He scowled. "You'll have to be more specific, _Süße_. I've killed many men."

"Mengele. He was responsible for the death of your daughters, right? You tracked him down, and you killed him.”

Greyback was silent for a moment. "Yes," he admitted eventually. "How did you know?"

"Well, if I'd been turned into a werewolf with exceptional abilities, and I knew exactly who was responsible for my kids' death…that’s what I would have done.” She shrugged. “You had to know that he was somewhere in South America. It must have been easy enough for you to find him."

He shot her a very wolfish grin. "See, we're not so different, you and I," he said tauntingly. "I kept old Josef alive for forty-two days. Not sure what got him in the end," he went on dispassionately. "Septic shock caused by one of the untreated wounds, I suspect."

Evey held back a sneer. Didn’t he realise that she was going to do the same thing to _him_ , as soon as she found a way around the curse? "How many…Elders are there?" she asked, changing the subject once again. He hadn’t provided a name for them, so she settled for the only one she had.

"Fourteen, including me."

She frowned slightly; she hadn't expected him to answer so readily. If it was true, there were as many Elders as there were Ancients. A mere coincidence? "And…who are they? Are they…historical figures, like the vampires?"

Greyback thought it over for a minute. "Yes, I suppose they are. But whereas the leeches became famous – or infamous – in their lifetime, many Wolves achieved recognition after being transformed. That is probably due to the fact that the Ancients have to die in order to become what they are, and we don't." It seemed that he’d capitalised the word Wolves when he’d spoken. Was that the term they used? It was a bit…lame.

"Who bit you?" Evey asked tentatively.

"Rasputin. They call him Goldeneyes." Well, they certainly didn't have the same rules of secrecy as the Ancients did. Or perhaps Greyback simply didn't care.

Then her mind did a double take. "Grigori Rasputin? The Russian mystic? He's a werewolf?"

" _Ja_. And, if you think I'm demented, you clearly haven't met _him_ ," he added with a bitter smile.

"Who else is there?" she continued. Unlike vampires, there weren't any 'famous' werewolves. They didn't have an equivalent to Dracula.

Greyback counted off his fingers. "Attila, Erik the Red, Blackbeard, Musashi, Cortés, Hunac Ceel, Ivan the Terrible, Bill the Conqueror…" He trailed off with a frown. "Bah, I don't know. I always forget a few. Doesn't matter. You get the idea."

Evey stored the names away carefully for later reflection. "Do you have…special abilities? Beyond the fact that you're immortal and can turn into a werewolf at any time, I mean."

Greyback laughed. "I can do everything a transformed werewolf can do, and more besides. But Wolves don't have any of these fancy abilities the Ancients have, if that's what you were asking. We can't control minds or turn invisible or whatever it is they do." That didn't seem to bother him. He clearly wouldn't trade being a werewolf for any 'fancy ability'.

"Did you kill Hitler?"

He raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question. "The coward committed suicide. Everyone knows that."

"Well, the history books don't mention you executing Mengele."

He chuckled softly. "True. But Hitler was dead before I was transformed," he pointed out.

"Right." _What a bizarre conversation_ , Evey reflected. How much more would he let on about the Elders – or Wolves, as he called them? "You've bitten plenty of people. Does that mean you can turn as many people as you want?" Antonin, she knew, would only be allowed to transform one person into an Ancient, someone who had the 'spark'. He or she would be the next to receive the invisibility power. Then again, Greyback had already told her that there were only fourteen Wolves.

"I can make as many mortal werewolves as I want, but there'll be only one like me. We pass on the gift from one Wolf to the next." He cocked his head sideways, his now-grey eyes gazing at her intensely. They changed colour at night, she'd noticed, turning a warm honey gold. "What is it you think to do with all that information, girl? You smell so smug, as if you'd pried it all from my mind yourself, but what good will it do you?"

None, Evey suspected. But, admittedly, she was asking more out of curiosity than any real hope to make a difference when – if – she returned to the Order. She chose to ignore the remark, however. "It changes everything, of course," she said instead. "The fact that you are a Wolf must have something to do with the fact that I am…whatever I am. Had you ever tried to turn a woman before? Maybe it's a perfectly normal consequence, but you wouldn't know because you only bite men, since – theoretically – only they can become werewolves."

"Do you really believe I've never bitten a woman before? That none of us have?" He let out a derisive snigger. "It always ends up with the same expected result. Death. You're the odd one out, girl, not me, or even that _Gottverdammt_ parasite of an Ancient that also bit you, apparently.” Oh. Was that why he wanted to know who the Ancient was? “You were something special even before she or I bit you. As to what that is, exactly…it remains a mystery, for now," he said reluctantly.

"I wonder what your family would think of you, if they could see you today," Evey speculated idly.

Greyback looked confused by the abrupt change of topic. "What do you mean? I avenged them. They would have no reason to disapprove of me."

"You've murdered about as many innocent people as Mengele ever did. And you're immortal, so it won't stop there. The way I see it, you're just as bad as the Nazis ever were." That would most likely earn her a fresh round of lacerations, but she was past caring. If he’d hoped to appeal to her sympathy by victimising himself, he was a fool. _An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind_ , wasn't that the saying? Of course, Evey was perfectly aware that she intended to act just as he had, in the name of what she liked to call justice. But it was different. She wouldn’t merely be acting out of personal revenge. She would be doing humankind a favour by ridding the world of Greyback's malevolent presence. She would sacrifice a part of her soul, and possibly her own life – if she couldn't find a way around the bloody curse – to save lives. Yes, that made all the difference.


	39. The things I do for love

"Bloody hell, we need to do more than this. We need help. Remus is not getting anywhere, and neither are we." Walden paced the room as he spoke. They hadn't been allowed to go outside to look for Evey, but that hadn't stopped Walden. He sneaked out every night to gather what information he could but, as Tony had predicted, information of any sort was hard to come by. Werewolves, in their human form, could not make use of the enhanced senses that came with their monthly transformation, but they could still tell a vampire apart from a living person – apparently, the stench of rot and decay was strong enough to perceive even then, though why they smelled these specific scents was another matter entirely, since vampires had no body odour.

On the other hand, vampires could not detect werewolves. They were truly disadvantaged. The ones Walden had found – mainly fellows he already knew, and few of them had accepted to talk to him – were reluctant to speak about Greyback. Most of them were terrified of him, and Tony couldn't blame them.

"I told you a million times, Wal, even if they agreed to talk, Greyback's den will be protected. Magically warded. He's got Voldemort on his side, remember? They probably _can't_ tell you. Remus will face the same problem wherever he goes, no matter whom he speaks to. Although, to be fair, it's miraculous enough that he's survived so long out there. He's like a sheep among the actual wolves." Tony sighed. He had been a vampire long enough now that exhaling air felt weird to him. Almost…unnatural. "What more could we do?" They had the same conversation practically every night. He didn't understand why they even bothered. Evey must be dead by now. He was as heartbroken as Walden was, no matter what his brother might think, but he would have to face the fact sooner or later. It was unlikely that Greyback would have kept her alive for so long, no matter how curious he might be about her.

Walden stopped dead in his tracks, his back to Tony. "We should call Jeanne," he announced matter-of-factly.

Well, that was a novel idea. But definitely not a good one. "You really have no clue how much trouble I'm in, do you? If she finds out I've turned you…" He shuddered at the thought. She may look frail, but Jeanne was more dangerous than anyone he'd ever met.

"She'll find out sooner or later," Walden pointed out.

"It can wait a few centuries, as far as I'm concerned." Didn't he understand that he was in danger as well? Jeanne might decide to kill Walden just to teach Tony a lesson. Or out of sheer spite. Or for fun.

Walden turned to face him. He hadn't shaved since he'd awoken as a vampire. His beard and hair were a mess. Tony didn't understand how their hair kept growing, now that they were dead. Then again, there were many things about vampires that were utterly unexplainable, at least from a purely biological point of view. "Are you going to make me beg?" Walden demanded. "Do you have any idea what it's like? How useless I feel? I don't even know if she's alive!" Tony opened his mouth to say that he would have to consider the fact that she might indeed not be, but his brother forestalled him. "I know you think she's dead," he went on accusingly, eyes blazing, "but I won't quit until I know that for sure."

Tony tried to approach the matter differently. "What could Jeanne do about it, anyway? She's a vampire, same as us."

"She must have connections. It's her job to get information, isn't it? She managed to infiltrate Azkaban, and for all we know she played a part in the mass breakout. I would hate her for it, but it'd prove that she can handle herself, at least. She's resourceful. She can help, Tony. I know she can."

Tony shook his head. "Even if she can, she's not likely to. Not when she finds out about you. Hell, we'd be lucky if she lets us live."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

Of course he was. He really should have ended up in Gryffindor, noble, suicidal fool that he was. "Look, even if I agreed, we'd still have to invite her in. We can't have a conversation like that on the threshold and hope that no one walks in on us. That's just not possible. Jeanne can only be invited in by the owner or a member of the permanent household. I doubt that we'll be considered permanent enough."

"Then we explain it all to Molly. We come clean." Walden said that as if it were the most evident thing in the world.

"Are you out of your bloody mind? I'm already in trouble! If they find out that I’ve told anyone _else_ about them..." _Us_ , Tony reminded himself. _About_ us. It was bad enough that he'd told Evey, no matter how…special she was, but if he told Molly, too... “The Bloodmother will atomise me,” he whispered fatalistically.

"Tony, it's _Molly_. She'll keep it to herself. You know she will."

Merlin, had his brains melted when he’d died? Or was it Evey's doing? "It doesn't matter whether she keeps it to herself or not," Tony said through gritted teeth. "Jeanne will know, and it will only add insult to injury. We have _nothing_ going for us, Wal. This won't be a debate, or even an argument. This will be Jeanne tearing us apart."

"That's not true, though," Walden murmured. "We do have something. We have Evey." Tony frowned. What did he mean by that? "You may have squandered your only shot at creating an Ancient, but you made _her_ ," he explained. "I know she's not a proper vampire, but she can turn invisible. She's at least part Ancient, isn't she? She's something entirely new. Don't you think it might compensate for your transgression?"

Tony stared at him in bewilderment. Evey was even less of an Ancient than Walden was, from a purely vampire-y point of view, but she’d somehow absorbed a much more important…ability, it was true. Walden had tried to turn invisible – he still tried, occasionally – but no miracle had occurred so far. The only thing he could do, that other vampires could not, was to retract his fangs at will. It wouldn’t be enough to impress Jeanne, Tony knew that for certain. Evey, on the other hand… "You'd just throw her to them like that? Do you have any idea what they might do to her, if they find out what she is?" Walden made no reply. Actually, Tony had no clue himself, but he liked to be prepared for the worst. He hadn't known the other Ancients long enough to predict their reactions. They weren't bad people, not really, but…well, some of them seemed to have forgotten how humans were supposed to behave.

Walden simply looked at him expectantly. "Ugh, fine," Tony grumbled after a moment. Walden had a point. He would have to face Jeanne eventually. The problem, he told his brother, was that the summoning thing worked only for the maker. He could _call_ for Jeanne, but there was no guarantee that she would show up, and no knowing _when_ she would. She was no witch, Tony reminded Walden. She couldn't simply Apparate in the yard.

"Just do it, alright? I'll get Molly while you do that." Walden was already at the door, walking with an air of determination.

Bracing himself, Tony nipped his own finger and, when a single drop of thick, dark blood welled from the incision, he deposited it on the exact spot where Jeanne had bitten him to transform him. All the while, he prayed to the gods that his maker wouldn’t answer the call. It might mean saving Evey, though Tony doubted that Jeanne would be able to do anything about it, but it might also mean Walden’s death. Molly’s death, too. There really was no telling how Jeanne would react, what she would do. She was as dangerous as she was unpredictable.

Tony regretted giving in to Walden’s request already. Worry was gnawing at him – worry for Evey, for Walden, for everyone alive in the vicinity – but it wasn’t the only thing that was gnawing at him at the moment.

On a whim, Tony bit himself again, just to taste blood, even his own, disgusting dead blood. He was so fucking hungry that his entire body seemed to _burn_ with hunger _._ He’d never felt such pain in his life – or death. Even the Cruciatus Curse couldn’t compare.

He would need to feed, and soon, whether he liked or not.

Because if Jeanne didn’t murder them all, Tony might.

* * *

 

Molly had taken it all stoically, as Walden had known she would. She was clearly annoyed that they hadn't told anyone, but he had expected that as well. She seemed to understand why they’d kept it a secret, at least. If word spread, and Voldemort found out that immortality was only one bite away from him, things could quickly degenerate. Even if he didn't have the spark, he would find a way to use that knowledge to his advantage.

The three of them were sitting in the kitchen, sipping tea – well, Molly and Walden were. Tony sat across from them, brooding. He had called for Jeanne over an hour ago, and he kept staring at his finger, for some reason, with an occasional glance at Molly.

Walden had had in mind to ask for Jeanne’s help for a while now, but had kept it as a last resort solution, knowing how much trouble Tony would be in when his maker discovered what he'd done. Walden wasn't going anywhere with his investigation, however. Tony was right – the werewolves would never assist them in finding Greyback, and Walden simply couldn't wait any longer. He could only hope that Jeanne would deign to make an appearance.

She did, half an hour later. Walden hadn't really expected her to come this very night, to tell the truth. She must have been close to their location, or perhaps she knew people who could Apparate.

In any case, he was glad that she was here, no matter how irate she might become in a minute. Tony had to be exaggerating about the whole murder thing, though. Walden didn’t know Jeanne very well, but he’d seen how she looked at Antonin. She would never harm him.

Tony opened the door, Molly at his side. Walden stood some distance behind her, and he hoped that he hadn’t just condemned her to death by revealing the Ancients’ secret. He couldn’t afford to doubt his decision now, however. What was done, was done, and he would suffer the consequences.

Jeanne gave Molly a baleful, one-eyed glare before shifting her attention to Tony. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded imperiously, hands on her slim hips. "Who is she?" she went on before anyone could reply. "Another lover?" she sneered.

_Lover?_ Walden thought, frowning slightly. What was she going on about?

Apparently, Tony was as confused as Walden felt. Obviously, this was not at all the first thing he had expected Jeanne to say. "What?" he said, scowling. "No, she's a friend. A trustworthy friend. Jeanne, this is–"

Jeanne raised a hand sharply. "Don't bother. I don't care for the mortal’s name. What do you want? What’s the emergency?"

Tony cleared his throat. "We need to talk," he muttered, eyes downcast. Walden didn't blame him; Jeanne was quite fierce when she was angry.

"Well, I don't have all night. Are you going to let me in or what?" she demanded impatiently.

Tony gave Molly a sideways glance. "You may come in," Molly said coolly. Jeanne ignored her entirely as she stepped inside the kitchen. She started to smile when she saw Walden, but froze a second later. Damn. He had hoped to break the news to her calmly, but his pale skin – in contrast to his former tan – must have given it away, not to mention his fangs. He had Tony's ability to keep them out of sight whenever he wanted, but he was still struggling with it on occasion.

" _Enfer et damnation!_ " Jeanne swore in a very unlady-like fashion. Before Walden could speak, she turned to Tony and slapped him hard enough that he fell to the floor.

Molly gasped, but she had her wand out a moment later. Walden moved toward her and put his hand on her arm, gently but firmly. This was the last thing they needed right now. Magic wouldn’t work on the Ancient, anyway. Tony was heaving himself up gingerly, groaning. A blow like that would have killed anyone else instantly. Perhaps Walden had overestimated Jeanne’s affection toward his brother. "Jeanne," he said quietly, in an attempt to appease the youthful-looking woman, "hear us out before you do anything you might regret. Please?" He couldn't help the edge of concern in his voice.

"You dare address me, mongrel?" Jeanne spat at him acidly.

Walden gaped at her for a moment. This was worse than he had anticipated. Molly recovered faster than him. "Excuse me! I will _not_ tolerate that sort of language in my house!"

Jeanne shifted her attention to her, but Molly stood her ground firmly, meeting the Ancient's gaze. "Do you know how easily I could kill you, old woman?" Jeanne said softly.

"Not as easily as you'd think, not with me here," Tony said, shielding Molly with his body. There was no mark on his cheek where the blow had landed, but Walden had rarely seen his brother looking so furious.

"Aw, would you look at that," Jeanne sniggered. "Are you going to protect her, like you protected your lover?"

"Why do you keep saying that? I don't have a lover, burn you!" Tony exclaimed.

"Not anymore, you don't," his maker said sweetly.

Realisation struck Walden just an instant before it did his brother. The only woman Tony had slept with since he was freed from Azkaban, the only person who could be qualified as his "lover", was the one he'd met on his birthday. Natalie, Walden thought her name was. Evey had told him about that episode.

Tony stared at Jeanne blankly for a moment, then Walden caught the exact moment when he understood what she was saying. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped slightly in a way that would have been comical in other circumstances. His fists clenched almost reflexively, to Walden's surprise – as far as he knew, Tony had never hit anyone in his life, let alone a woman.

Everyone remained silent as Antonin struggled internally, until he eventually stormed out into the night without a word.


	40. Pardon my French

Jeanne scowled at the door that Antonin had left wide open. A loud hoot broke the tense silence inside the room.

Her mind was roiling. She had understood the problem the moment she’d laid eye on Walden. What had Antonin been _thinking_?

And what a fool she had been! She should never have allowed Antonin to return to his former life. Never! She would pay dearly for that mistake.

She sat down on one of the plain kitchen chairs, fuming. They were going to fucking kill her for that crime – for it was a crime, the most grievous one she could imagine an Ancient committing.

_Or worse_ , she thought in sudden panic. _They might kill_ him. Her only progeny, the only child she would ever have. She couldn't bear the thought. She'd been harsh to Antonin because she was afraid, she realised. She already regretted hitting him.

"Why did you kill Natalie?" Walden asked softly after a moment.

Jeanne glared at him indignantly. "I didn't kill the damn girl, you idiot!" Of course she bloody well hadn't. It was expressly forbidden – anything even remotely susceptible to be linked to the Ancients was prohibited. That included brutal murder. Besides, she cared little where the boy chose to stuff his… Well, what she meant was that she entertained no romantic feelings toward Antonin. She wasn't jealous of the women he frequented. She was simply being protective of him, that was all. Like any good mother would be. "I had someone erase her memory. I _had_ to. He told her too much. He told her his real name, for fuck’s sake! The girl has a half-brother who is a wizard. You can see how that might prove dangerous." She huffed in annoyance. The nerve of the man, to accuse her as if she were the one on trial! Antonin was the one who had broken the rules, not her.

" _Quel putain de foutoir_ ," Jeanne muttered crossly. She saw that Walden was about to tell her to calm down. "I know, I know. I understand, yes? I'm not made of wood, curse you. I understand _why_ he turned you. I just wish he hadn't." She grimaced. "When you've lived as long as I have, you learn to think things through before you act, no matter the circumstances, no matter the apparent urgency of the situation. You do realise what he's done, don't you?" she asked earnestly. She wasn't making a fuss for no reason, he had to see that. Hell, she wasn't being near hysterical just for the sake of it.

"Yeah, I know,” Walden said quietly. “I’m not an Ancient at all, am I?”

"No, I daresay you are not, _mon pauvre chou_. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the spark, otherwise I would have made another petition to the Mother to have the next in line transcend you.” Better two wizards than one, Jeanne had figured. Not only were they even rarer than the Muggles, and therefore even more of a prize, but their talents could come in handy. In her line of work, hiring wizards was costly. The one she’d found to teleport her here in all haste had charged her a scandalous amount of _francs_. “But who knows exactly what you are?” she mused. “No ordinary mortal has ever been turned by one of us." As soon as she said the words, the immensity of it all washed over Jeanne. Antonin had ended their line. No one would benefit from the invisibility gift ever again, and this would contribute to reducing their overall number in the future. What a waste. Jeanne had nothing personal against Walden, but _what a_ _bloody waste_. The others would be furious, and rightly so.

"Right." Walden took a deep, unnecessary breath. Obviously, he wasn't yet used to the fact that he didn't breathe anymore. Her dead heart went out to him, despite the gravity of the situation. Somehow, she very much doubted that he’d asked for this. "Jeanne, we didn't call you because of me. Well, not only that," he amended.

_Oh, par tous les dieux_. What could possibly be worse than this? Jeanne steeled herself. No matter what he was about to say, she had to remind herself _not_ to slap Walden. He would not survive. Mere vampires were not quite as strong as the Ancients were. "My fiancée was kidnapped,” he said. “We've been looking for her for over two months, in vain. We need your help, Jeanne."

Fiancée? Jeanne hadn't known that he was engaged. When had _that_ happened? Then again, at the risk of seeming heartless, the woman's disappearance was the least of her worries at present. She had to prepare for the upcoming meeting, to find a way to save Antonin's skin – and her own. And Walden's, if at all possible. "I'm afraid I have more pressing matters to attend to." She rose from her seat, and the red-haired hag glared at her, her mouth set in a tight, disapproving line. Jeanne had almost forgotten that she was there, and she dismissed her again as she moved toward the door. There’d be time to worry about her later, to decide if she represented a danger to her people. _Damn, how many people has Antonin told about us?_ Jeanne thought with an internal groan.

"I thought you might say that," Walden said dryly. Jeanne turned to face him. He thought he knew her, did he? She sniffed without bothering to reply. "But it'll be worth your time, I promise you." She arched an eyebrow and gestured for him to go on, more out of pity than real interest. "Evey - my fiancée, she was bitten by a werewolf, and she survived."

Jeanne looked at him impassively. _So what?_ she thought derisively. She was well aware that women weren't supposed to survive a bite from one of the cursed beasts, but it hardly concerned her. She tried to tell Walden that, but he went on before she could open her mouth. "She was also bitten by Tony," he added with mock casualness. Jeanne wished he would stop calling him ‘Tony’. It was such a lame nickname. 'Antonin' was much more distinguished, much more elegant. She backtracked slowly, focusing on the more relevant information in that sentence. Gods. How many people had he bitten? More importantly, _why_? The way Walden said it, it didn’t sound as if Antonin had intended to drink the girl's blood. And, to be fair, biting was not turning. But still.

She blinked when she realised what Walden had just said. She’d zoned out as he was monologuing, but she must have misheard that last part. "She can turn invisible?" she repeated, dumbfounded.

Walden nodded, a sharp sliver of a smile on his face, a hint of smugness at having recaptured Jeanne’s attention. "And she regenerates almost instantly."

"That's…" She paused, considering. _Impossible_. _It’s impossible_. Antonin had turned Walden. He couldn’t have transformed this girl as well, not in any meaningful way. Especially not by simply biting her. "Is she…a vampire?" Jeanne asked dubiously. “Is she dead?”

Walden flinched at that last question. “She’s alive,” he said stubbornly. "And she’s not a vampire. No fangs, no blood cravings. She can walk in daylight. Her skin is the same colour it's always been, and it doesn't feel cold to the touch."

Well, this _was_ curious. It might be worth investigating, but certainly not right now. Jeanne took a few steps forward and patted Walden on the arm in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "I'm afraid it will have to wait. But I will consider looking into it, if we survive the next couple of months," she added sourly.

"It _can't_ wait!” Walden exclaimed. “Jeanne, Fenrir Greyback's got her. Have you heard of him? Do you have any–"

Jeanne prided herself in her ability to keep her cool in most situations. But this had already been a rough night. First she’d been terrified out of her wits when Antonin had called for her out of the blue, using their emergencies-only connection, then she’d discovered things that would very likely get her progeny killed, and now… " _Greyback?!_ "

"He's the one who took her, yes,” Walden said slowly, obviously surprised by her vehement tone.

_Bordel de merde!_ Jeanne nearly threw her arms in the air in frustration. A fucking Wolf. That changed everything. "This is...this is beyond me. I must take it higher up. Dealing with those…creatures..." She shook her head in disgust but made no mention of the Wolves out loud. She didn't think Antonin knew about them yet, let alone these two. "But it'll have to wait until the meeting, Walden." Another noble name. It had a nice ring to it. Why did they all insist on shortening their rightful names?

_Concentre-toi, imbécile_ , she chided herself. "If I force my…colleagues to attend another meeting before the planned one,” Jeanne continued, “it would make things even worse. Many of them despise these compulsory gatherings."

Walden looked confused. "Meeting? What meeting?"

"Our decennial meeting. On Halloween night. Didn't Antonin mention it?" she asked with a frown. He spoke so freely to everyone that Jeanne had assumed the whole Order of the Phoenix knew about it by now.

"First I'm hearing of it," Walden said.

"Well, do make sure that _he_ remembers it. You'll need to attend as well, I suppose. But I must warn you: they may decide to have you executed. Both of you." _And myself_ , she added mentally. The Ancients were few as it was, but the offence was grievous.

Walden nodded, but he didn't look particularly happy at her concession. "Halloween’s in two months," he grumbled. "Are you sure you can't–"

"No, I cannot," Jeanne cut him off sharply. She was already thinking about the arguments she would present. If Greyback was involved, it would hopefully make the others more amenable toward the other…matter. Yes, it might work. Find a scapegoat, and divert the others until they forgot about Antonin's little…gaffe. "Well," she went on crisply, "I'm counting on you to remind him. He knows where and when. Formal dress code." She moved toward the door. "Oh, and do let him know that I didn't harm that cute little mortal of his. I wouldn't want there to be any bad blood between us," she said wittily.

"Yeah, but wait. There's, um, another small issue... Tony can't feed off of me anymore. Do you–"

"For fuck's sake!" Jeanne yelled angrily, the last shreds of her patience finally dissipating. "Don't I have enough on my plate? Must I feed him myself? Sort this out on your own, burn you. Have the damned ginger serve as beverage, for all I care."

It was her turn to storm off into the night. She hoped that her overpriced _sorcier_ -for-hire had waited as instructed to teleport her home.

* * *

"She's quite rude," Molly remarked as she closed the door behind the vampire. Thankfully, the woman hadn't awakened anyone when she'd shouted. If she'd disturbed Arthur's already shortened sleep, or Bill's…or if she’d alerted anyone to her presence, really, Molly would have been quite crossed.

"She's French," Walden said with a shrug.

Well, there was a lot to be said about Fleur, but at least her language was always correct. In Molly's presence, anyway. "What was that about Antonin not being able to feed off of you?" she enquired. "He's been drinking animal blood ever since you two joined the Order last year."

Walden proceeded to explain that Antonin had only been drinking animal blood to keep up appearances, but in fact needed to drink human blood, preferably at the source, although he didn’t need to feed quite as often as Walden did. There was a lot that Molly had yet to discover, it seemed, about these mysterious Ancients. Should she really keep this all to herself? She would reflect upon the matter when she'd had a proper night of rest.

“In fact,” Walden said hesitantly, “it’s been months since he’s had blood. Since…well, you know. He’s not exhibiting any sign of hunger, but…” He trailed off, eyes downcast.

But if he was like other vampires in that regard, things could get messy if he didn’t feed soon, Molly realised. “I wish you’d said something earlier,” she scolded him. “The children are here, Walden.”

“I know,” he said abashedly. “I just…I forgot about it, I guess. I told him to find a solution, back when I first found out, but then…” He shook his head. He’d been too preoccupied by Evey, as Molly could have expected.

“Well, I’m off to bed now,” she said firmly. “It’s supposed to be painless, isn’t it? I won’t even wake up, if he’s careful.”

Walden gaped at her briefly. “Molly, I don’t know if-”

“If he doesn’t do it, I will force-feed him somehow. Believe me, I will.”

Walden gave her the tiniest smile in reply. “I’ll see to it that he does. I promise.”

Before going upstairs, Molly quickly washed up the used tea cups and set the table for breakfast. When she was done, she noticed that Walden looked even gloomier than he did when he'd knocked on her bedroom door a few hours earlier. He was staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. "It seems that things are looking up at last," Molly said with all the cheerfulness she could muster – it was quite late, and her brief encounter with the foul-mouthed vampire had taken its toll on her. "And who knows," she added, holding back a yawn, "perhaps we'll rescue Evey before that meeting Jeanne was going on about."

"Aye, but in what condition will we find her, if we do?" Walden murmured tiredly, a sure sign that the sun would rise soon.

Molly couldn't think of a comforting reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need me to translate the few French parts, just let me know in the comments. They’re not really relevant; they just show that Jeanne is as vulgar in French as she is in English.


	41. Hear me roar!

Evey was absorbed in a novel that Jabbar had lent her when Greyback walked into her cell – without bothering to ask for permission to come in, of course. Evey didn't spend much time on her own anymore, but she was grateful for a quiet moment once in a while. The Alpha had to ruin even that.

"What are you reading?" he asked her. As if he couldn't read the title on the cover.

" _The Eyes of the Overworld_ ," Evey replied politely. She realised with dawning apprehension that Greyback had closed the curtain behind him.

"Ah, yes. A classic." He took a few more steps toward her, his towering height casting a long shadow on the bed.

Evey closed the book with a snap. What did he want now? He was silent for a long time, studying her intently. It made her feel uncomfortable. Their last "conversation", over a month ago – he really didn't spend much time at the prison – had almost resulted in their mutual death. He'd literally thrown her out of his office, clearly to avoid tearing her to shreds in his rage. Which was why Evey was being polite now.

When Greyback continued to stare at her wordlessly, Evey asked the first thing that came to her mind, just to break the heavy silence. "Why did you make it impossible to cast magic inside the perimeter when you're a wizard yourself?" She'd visited every nook and cranny of the prison to find a spot where she could use magic, but in vain.

He cocked his head slightly to the side, never taking his eyes off her. "I wasn't always a wizard," he explained eventually. What nonsense was that? You were either born a wizard, or you weren't. Evey was about to point it out to him when he went on. "I was a Squibb. My parents tried everything to have me accepted into a wizarding school, any of them, but to no avail. My Pure-blood family took it hard, especially since I was an only child. My father was deeply ashamed of me, so he sent me to a Muggle boarding school in Poland, where I remained for years, only visiting home on rare occasions. I met my future wife at the Polish school. My parents severed all ties with me when they learned that I wanted to marry a Muggle. I don't know what happened to them during the War – or afterwards, if they survived."

Evey still couldn't fathom why he was telling her all these things about himself, about his past. No one else here seemed to know who he really was, who he had been, except perhaps Scabior. In any case, none of this explained why he could now use magic.

"I became able to do magic after I was bitten," Greyback said, as if he'd read her mind. Merlin, she hoped he couldn't do that. For all she knew, Wolves had that ability. "After I first transformed, to be exact." He shrugged. "I don't know how or why. It just happened. I'm the only wizard among the Wolves."

Evey scowled at that revelation. Antonin was the only wizard among the Ancients. Was it mere coincidence? Could it be why she'd reacted so unexpectedly to being bitten by them both?

"What was her name?" she asked suddenly. "Your wife, I mean?"

Greyback frowned at the abrupt change of topic. "Why do you want to know?"

Truth be told, Evey didn't care. She just liked to confuse him. "Yeah, forget it. Just trying a new angle, you know, trying to be compassionate, to show interest and sympathy. It's not working."

His face went blank. "I don't want your _sympathy_ , girl," he growled.

"Which is precisely why I wanted to experience the feeling," she replied with a sly grin.

It was a dangerous gamble, but she had hoped that he would be pissed off and would leave her alone. Instead, he surprised her by returning her smile, displaying razor-sharp teeth. "Now, now, why are you being so hostile?” He had to be joking. The last time they’d been together in the same room, he’d tortured her for hours! “Isn't clear to you yet, _Engel_? We are not meant to be enemies. We are meant to be mates."

A shiver ran down Evey’s spine. "Friends?" she said slowly. She had a bad feeling that that was not what he meant.

His wolfish grin widened. Bloody hell. Torture hadn’t worked, so he was moving on to Plan B? She’d really thought – hoped – that he was bluffing about that. She laid down her book on the mattress and pulled a pillow protectively over her chest. Not that it would offer any protection, if she didn’t manage to talk Greyback out of this.

He didn’t leave her a chance to talk, however. "It makes perfect sense," he went on with an amused smile toward her makeshift shield. "It's meant to be. Don't you see? That's why I was drawn to you, why I bit you and made you what you are."

He moved closer and sat on the bed. Evey retreated to the other end, as far away from him as she could, hugging her pillow tightly. Her back bumped against the wall. She'd been in this cell for weeks, but she'd never felt as trapped before as she did now. "If you think I'll let you anywhere near me, you're sorely mistaken," she said with much more bravado that she felt. She was shaking with fear, and Greyback could probably tell.

He chuckled. "As if you could stop me." He was too fucking fast. Before she could even gasp, he had her pinned down under him.

“It’s Dolohov!” Evey shouted as he began to tear her t-shirt apart. He stopped what he was doing, frowning down at her. “The Ancient. It’s a man. It’s Antonin Dolohov.” She was too terrified to even feel shame at betraying her friend. At this moment, she would have spilled any secret, betrayed anyone, for a chance to stop what was about to happen.

Greyback barked a dry laugh. “Bit late for that, but thank you for letting me know.” He proceeded to remove his own shirt, ripping it free in one smooth motion.

Evey started to panic in earnest. She could not, _would_ not allow this to happen. She let her hatred, her revulsion for the Alpha fill her. Perhaps a sudden rush of adrenaline would render her strong enough to push him away. She soon realised that it was useless; nothing would save her, Greyback was too strong, but she simply couldn't stop struggling. She would _not_ –

She felt the muscles in her right arm cramp brutally. Had she pulled a muscle in her effort? Her elbow joint popped with a loud, cracking noise. Fuck, he was going to tear her arm out. Oddly, she felt no pain. It had to be the shock. The pain would come later, she assumed.

But Greyback was now frozen in place, staring at her arm. Evey felt the same thing happen in her other arm, and experienced a strain in her legs, as though they were being stretched. Greyback heaved himself off of her in a hurry, but she barely noticed.

Her whole body was changing, her limbs elongating, her jaw widening, but it wasn't until she spotted the sleek brown fur sprouting out of her forearm that she realised what was happening.

She was turning into a werewolf.

* * *

The transformation seemed to last forever, or perhaps it was only an instant. Evey was paralysed with shock. She couldn't think clearly. Of all the things she'd done so far, this was truly the weirdest, most inconceivable–

Just as abruptly as it had started, it was over. She became aware that Greyback was gaping at her, bare-chested, looking nothing like his usual confident self. From the bed, in her uncomfortable half-sitting, half-lying position, Evey was level with his head.

Greyback blinked, his bewilderment finally receding, and he began to change. Evey had to act before he was fully transformed.

Without thinking, she gathered herself and lunged at him with a snarl. Her front…paws hit him square in the chest, and they both tumbled to the floor, rolling out of her cell and ripping the curtain away as they did. Evey ended up on top of him, a roar of rage escaping her throat, cracking like thunder and echoing in the corridor.

Greyback was in werewolf form now, a huge, grey, distorted wolf with murderous yellow eyes. He was much bigger than werewolves were supposed to be – but then again, so was Evey.

Before he could attempt to remove her, some primal instinct made her reach for his throat. Her sharp teeth stopped just short of the flesh.

Greyback went utterly still under her.

Evey became aware of several things at once. She could feel his heartbeat – no, she could _hear_ it. His heart was thudding in his chest loudly, like an ominous drumbeat. She could also smell him. There was a bitter, acrid scent, and another cloying one that nearly made her gag. Evey wasn't sure what they were, or what they meant. Her vision was much improved as well, although it didn't serve her much at the time being; it only gave her a clearer rendering of Greyback's furry neck.

She couldn't very well remain like that forever, could she? Tearing his throat would likely kill her, and she hadn’t given up on living just yet. In fact, with the phenomenal amount of energy coursing through her veins, death was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

Still, she would have to let go of Greyback at some point, and face the consequences of this unlikely episode. Just as she was about to release him, however, she sensed that more people were assembling in the corridor. _Good_ , Evey thought. _Let them see their almighty Alpha overpowered by a girl._ She would really do anything to undermine him. Even the impossible.

Despite the gathered crowd, there was not a sound. Nobody talked; nobody even seemed to dare to breathe. _Alright, this should suffice_ , Evey decided after another minute. She let go of the hulking werewolf, ignored everyone, and walked into the cell opposite hers, where the curtain was still intact. She closed it with some difficulty, awkwardly pulling at it with her clawed paws.

Now, to get back to her human form. Or should she hold on to this one a while longer? Greyback could be waiting for her to return to her frail self, and then he would made another attempt to… But no. At this very moment, fucking her had to be the last thing on his mind, especially with such a large audience. Especially after what they’d just witnessed.

Back to being a vulnerable, helpless little girl, then. Was it like turning invisible? Should she simply _will_ it to happen? Yes, apparently, that was the trick.

What truly astounded her – besides the mind-boggling fact that she could transform into a werewolf – was that the process was absolutely painless. According to books on the subject, it was supposed to be excruciating. Well, Evey wasn't about to complain. She’d suffered quite enough in the past few months.

It was also surprising that she had retained her ability to think and act rationally, like a human, not like a bloodthirsty beast. Was it something the Wolves could do? Was it what Greyback meant when he claimed that his pack was “disciplined”? Again, it didn’t fit what Evey knew of werewolves.

She shook her head. This should not be the focus of her attention at the moment. What was Greyback going to do now? How were the others going to react to this new, unexpected development?

After she'd draped herself in the bed sheet, Evey peeked behind the curtain, realised that Greyback was gone, and exited the cell cautiously. Her senses were back to normal, and she felt almost numb, now that they weren’t enhanced. The world seemed oddly dull.

Greyback was gone, but most of the pack was still around. They looked dazed. When Evey turned to face them, they all shifted their gaze to the floor as one.

Alright, that was new. Was it because she had overcome the Alpha? Holy cow! Was _she_ in charge now? Would they obey her as they did Greyback? She could get out of here! She walked toward Jabbar excitedly but, as she advanced, they all scattered away like frightened sheep, Jabbar included. _What the hell?_

Only Scabior remained behind. He appeared nervous, fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. She approached him carefully and kept some distance between them. She could tell that he wanted to look her defiantly in the eyes, but his gaze kept shifting between her chin and her nose, never rising above.

"You've just signed your death warrant, girl," he muttered. She couldn't decide if he sounded angry or scared. Perhaps both. "You were no real threat to him, not before, but this... He cannot allow this. He'll kill you as soon as he figures out how to get around that curse."

"Not if I figure it out first," Evey stated grimly.


	42. Gods are fragile things

Scabior waited an hour before dragging himself to Fenrir's office. He didn't know what to make of what had happened earlier. He was well aware that the girl was special, but... _this_ , a female werewolf? This was beyond what his mind could cope with.

The Alpha had run off as soon as the girl was off of him. He'd literally fled the scene. Scabior didn't know what to make of that, either.

As he neared the office door, he hesitated. Was it really prudent to talk to Fenrir now? Perhaps he should let a day or two pass. Perhaps the Alpha would be gone by then. He'd spent a lot of time away during the summer, researching the girl situation. He'd been to Leipzig's library, which contained the best-documented werewolf section in the world, according to most scholars. Alas, it had all been a waste of time. There were absolutely no recorded cases of anything even remotely similar.

The door was closed. Scabior couldn't remember it ever being closed before. He took a deep breath and knocked twice, as softly as possible. Fenrir must have heard him approach, anyway. No reply came, and Scabior waited another minute before turning away.

The door opened before he could take five steps. "Get in," Fenrir commanded in a low growl. He radiated anger – and therefore danger. Scabior obeyed, and wondered if he would get out of the office alive.

He waited for the Alpha's sharp gesture before taking a seat in the opposite chair, but Fenrir didn’t sit down, so Scabior was forced to remain standing. Fenrir leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his massive chest, glaring at the window, his back to Scabior.

Scabior kept his eyes on the floor instead of the desk, just to be safe, even though Fenrir was facing the other way. The men had tried, to no avail, to salvage the carpet, following last month's…torture session. It couldn't be called anything else. Scabior had been taken aback when Fenrir had announced that he was going to harm the girl, announced it as if he were telling him that he was going to take a stroll in the woods. He didn't know why it had perturbed him so much – he didn't care about the girl, not in the least – but the fact that the Alpha would resort to such methods was…disturbing. It was something Voldemort would do.

And…well, admittedly, she _was_ just a girl. His _babunia_ had been adamant that he must never, ever hurt a woman. It was low and despicable, she used to say. It was a sin – the old woman had been very religious. Scabior felt sick at the thought of what Evey must have endured, given the state of the carpet.

He frowned slightly. He'd never thought about her that way, by using her name. Well, it was hardly relevant at the moment.

"What did she tell you?" Fenrir demanded without preamble. "I know you stayed behind."

Scabior shifted uncomfortably. "She didn't say much, boss." Now was not a good time to be too familiar. "Just the usual. That she would see you dead."

Fenrir snorted. "Like hell she will," he grumbled. "What did the others say?" he went on roughly.

That was the part Scabior dreaded the most. He could feel sweat dripping down his back. He must reek of fear and concern. He swallowed hard before answering. "They, um… Well, that is…" He had to pause to take a deep breath. Better to get it out of the way. "The men defer to her like they do to you. They seem to think…she's the Alpha now. Well, not exactly," he amended quickly as Fenrir turned his head toward him, eyes blazing with fury. "I think they consider her like your...equal? Or your female counterpart. I don't know, boss. It's complicated. They don't know what to make of it and, frankly, neither do I." At least they weren't taking orders from the girl – she had tried that already, the little minx – and everyone was avoiding her now, because they didn't know how to behave around her anymore. Thankfully, she wasn't taking advantage of the situation to mess with the rest of the pack. She wasn't as dumb as she looked. Or, more likely, she was just too nice. She genuinely seemed to care about them - some of them, anyway.

" _Unsinn!_ " Fenrir snarled. "She's a _girl_ , for fuck's sake. She can't be Alpha. She's not even part of the pack! Hell, she's not a proper werewolf! And my _equal_? That's ridiculous. Are they bloody stupid?" He exhaled furiously and started pacing. He was rambling. Scabior had never seen him so…out of countenance before. "She caught me by surprise, that's all. How could I have expected her to turn into a damn werewolf? I would have overcome her easily. I _chose_ not to. What if I'd hurt her? I would have hurt myself in the process. There just wasn't any point. Don't they see that?" he demanded imperiously. "Bugger them. And _fuck_ her. _Ich habe es satt_ ," he added vehemently. He knocked his chair over in anger, then turned his back on Scabior again, staring out the window.

_I've had enough._ Scabior was at a loss for words. He’d _chosen_ not to overpower the girl? That didn't sound like Fenrir at all. He'd never seen him like this. He looked almost…helpless, for all his rage and frustration. This was bad. But what could Scabior do about it?

"Get the fuck out," Fenrir ordered eventually. Scabior scrambled away without hesitation. If he’d been in wolf form, his tail would have been tucked between his legs. "And you'd better make damn sure everyone remembers who their Alpha is," he added as Scabior reached the threshold.

* * *

Bloody fools. Hadn’t Fenrir taught them better than that? A female Alpha! Now he had heard it all. But it didn't matter; Scabior would make certain that they behaved adequately around the girl, and that they didn't take orders from her – although the very idea was ludicrous. Taking orders from a girl. Honestly.

No, truly, Fenrir wasn't worried about that. They would come to their senses, once the initial shock had faded.

He couldn't believe that the girl was stronger than him. How was that even _possible_? Well, to be fair, nothing that had happened in the last couple of hours seemed possible. Fenrir couldn't imagine a worst development to their already complicated situation.

In other circumstances, he would seek advice among his own kind, but he couldn't let them know about Evangeline. He didn't trust any of them, and Grigori had disappeared after they’d banished him, decades ago.

Fenrir was used to being accused of every single violent crime linked to a werewolf attack, but in reality, the one perpetrated against the Kanes had been one of the few he'd actually committed. He never bit to kill, only to turn. Barca and his minions didn't particularly mind that the younger Wolves go on murder sprees, no matter what he claimed, but he did care about anything that might expose them to the world. The girl could be the source of all sorts of troubles, without proper supervision. And, of course, Fenrir would be held accountable, if trouble arose. For all intents and purposes, he was her maker, and what a disturbing thought that was. 

He hadn't expected the girl to suddenly blurt out the Ancient's name. That wasn't at all what Fenrir had intended to do and, truth be told, he didn't think it mattered at this point. Voldemort would certainly pay good money for this information, but it would have to wait. The most pressing matter was to come up with a method to sever his connection to the girl - it was likely what allowed her to transform. Fenrir had no intention of disposing of her, not if he could avoid it, but he had to find a way around the obstacle. Leipzig's _Bibliothek_ had yielded no useful information. He wasn't sure where to look next. North America? Yes, perhaps. The Natives possessed werewolf-related lore that couldn't be found anywhere else. It was worth a try, in any case.

And when he returned, hopefully with a solution, he could finish what he’d started that morning. The girl was supposed to be more than a thorn in his side, Fenrir was convinced of it. There had to be a _point_ to her existence. And the only thing he could think of, the only thing the Wolves could possibly need, was a female capable of bearing their children. She had to be the missing link. She would bring forth a new generation of werewolves, and Fenrir would be the herald of a new era. It would be just like what Grigori had dreamed of, all those years ago.

The werewolves would run the world, with Fenrir at their head.

* * *

Evey remained in her cell for a few days, getting out only to fetch her meals. Everyone avoided her. Everyone seemed terrified of her, even Scabior, although he concealed it better than most.

Now she knew what it really felt like to be a freak.

She hadn’t run into Greyback since the...incident. The Alpha had deserted the night after their latest encounter. What a coward. But it was all to Evey's advantage, of course. She was on her way to discredit him entirely in the eyes of his men, even if she couldn't appropriate the pack altogether. She had attempted a sortie that first day, but she'd been brought back by guards who had appeared extremely reluctant to touch her. She had toyed with them a bit when she’d realised that, half-hoping that they wouldn't dare to physically bar her way, but Scabior had finally intervened, dragging her back inside the perimeter. She had briefly considered turning into her new alter ego, to see how he would react to _that_ , but what was the point? Even if she made it out of the prison, she didn't trust herself to Apparate out of the woods – provided that she _could_ Apparate. She didn't know how far the ward against magic reached. For all she knew, it encompassed the whole reservation, and only Greyback could remove it at need.

Perhaps she could turn into a werewolf, make her way out of the forest using her enhanced senses, find a phone and… No. If she was being honest with herself, she was afraid of transforming again. She’d had perfect control of her wolf form that first time, but what if she didn't? What if she suddenly went berserk? She couldn't risk that. And besides, who would she call? They had no phones at the Headquarters. She could find a wizarding family with a chimney, sure, but what were the odds of finding such an opportune household in the vicinity? And what if they were partisans of Voldemort?

_No_ , Evey thought. _The time for escape has not come, not yet._

It would come soon, however. She could feel it.


	43. Wolf girl

It was Jabbar who finally summoned enough courage to visit her, nearly a week later. He stood a good distance away from the half-opened curtain, clearly hesitant and uncomfortable. His brown eyes were locked on the floor.

From the bed, where she sat with a book forgotten in her hand, Evey stared at him for a minute, wondering if he was going to say something. When he didn't, she sighed heavily. "Get in, Jab.”

He complied, moving slowly, cautiously, as if not to bother her. He stopped as soon as he was inside the cell, obviously reluctant to get any closer to her. He was still silent.

Evey was becoming annoyed. _He_ had come to _her_ , yet he seemed to expect her to do the talking. "Sit down," she told him curtly. Again, he obeyed without hesitation, taking a seat on the only chair available.

It was all very confusing. When she'd tried to get out – to escape – a few days ago, Evey had ordered the guards to let her through, and at first they had complied, although with a perturbed look on their faces. When Scabior had come running and cursing, they had suddenly snapped out of their reverie and moved forward to bar the way. Scabior, of course, had had no problem with physically restraining her and returning her inside the perimeter. Evey hadn’t protested, mainly because she felt oddly ashamed at the idea of humiliating Scabior in front of his men. He wasn’t a bad bloke. Greyback had messed with his brain, but deep down he had a good heart. In fact, he would make a fine leader for this pack, if Evey managed to take out Greyback.

Still, she was curious. She commanded Jabbar to stand on one foot and to hop in place.

And he did it. His cheeks reddened in either embarrassment or anger – or both – but he did it, and he didn't stop until Evey told him to. Then he just stood there, glaring at the floor.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Jabbar!” Evey muttered. “Sit down, you twit. I'm sorry, alright? I just don't understand. Why is it working on you and not on the others?" She recounted what had happened the other day.

"It didn’t work because your orders contradicted Fenrir's, love," he said softly. "He told us not to let you out under any circumstances, not unless he directly ordered it."

"Oh. Right. That makes sense, I guess." None of it made much sense, in truth, but she was getting used to that. At least it explained why the guards had looked so conflicted. "Does that mean that Greyback's word still prevails upon my own? Even though I kicked his arse?" Evey thought she'd figured out how their hierarchy was structured, but apparently there were subtleties she wasn't yet aware of. Was it because she was a girl? To be fair, packs were, in essence, patriarchies – they’d always been, for the simple reason that all werewolves were male. The few women who were accepted by the pack – wives, daughters, sisters, mothers – were not actually _part_ of it. They existed outside of it, and were tolerated. That was what Walden had explained to her, anyway. Evey had never seen a woman at the prison.

"Well, um, it doesn't really work like that," Jabbar said. He was speaking very quietly, as they all did when addressing Greyback. Croyd had explained that it was a mark of respect, but Jabbar had laughed and admitted that they were just afraid that speaking too loudly would anger him. "Whether it's you or him, or Scabior, we still have to obey you all. It's hard to tell who's more dominant between you and the Alpha, though. You're too…different. No offence, but you’re a tiny girl and he’s…well, you know.” A hulking monster, in both human and wolf forms; yes, Evey was aware of that. “And you did have the upper hand, that one time, but you must have caught Fenrir by surprise. Not only had you just turned into a werewolf, in broad daylight, but people rarely attack him like that, you see." Evey noted that he didn't seem particularly shocked that Greyback had also transformed in the middle of the day. Maybe she’d been wrong; maybe they did know that he was something more than what he appeared to be.

"But a person would have to defeat him if they wanted to become Alpha in his stead, right? Hasn't anyone ever tried?"

Jabbar laughed. He was beginning to relax, Evey could tell, though he still wasn’t looking at her. "Funny you should mention it, but there was in fact some madman who attempted to take over, in October last year. Alexei wasn't too chuffed to learn that Fenrir would be siding with Voldemort again, so he challenged Fenrir to a fight to the death for leadership of the pack." Jabbar shook his head at the man's insanity. "Fenrir was reluctant to hurt him, but after letting the man carve a few strands of meat off of him, all the while asking him to give up, he didn't have much choice." He made a gesture indicating that Greyback had slit the man's throat.

_Wait, did he say October?_ Evey thought suddenly. That was when she'd been awakened by phantom wounds! At least now she knew the truth of _that_. Though all that revelation accomplished at the moment was to remind her that she couldn’t share it with Walden and Antonin. She banished all thoughts of them in a hurry; it was simply too painful.

And again, she was lost. “Couldn’t Greyback simply _order_ the bloke to stop?”

"When you defy your Alpha, it means that you don’t consider him as such any longer. The man essentially became a lone wolf, one of the Packless, the moment he challenged Fenrir. There's always a fool with delusions of grandeur who will attempt such folly, I suppose," Jabbar went on with a shrug. "But Alexei was the first I actually witnessed. It's not a common occurrence, especially when your pack leader is someone like Fenrir. He could probably take on any other Alpha in the kingdom, if he put his mind to it. They’re all weaklings, compared to him." He paused to consider his next words. "To put it concretely for you, I'm about in the middle of the dominance scale, if you can call it that, everyone here included. Croyd is just a step below me, which makes our relationship all the more interesting,” he said with a small grin. “Scabior is a tad bit above us all,” he continued, “but Fenrir...he's up through the roof and into the stratosphere." He scowled faintly. "It's like…he's more than a mere werewolf. Like he’s part divine, or something."

_Divine, my ass_. Evey scoffed internally. _He’s the human equivalent of a demon, that’s for certain, but he’s not_ the _Fenrir demon. He said so himself – though he did seem to think of himself as a godly being. Perhaps that’s how he sees the Wolves, as beings superior to humans, and therefore godly._ Alexei wasn’t the only one with delusions of grandeur, it seemed.

But the fact remained that Jabbar clearly _didn't_ know about the Wolves. Perhaps Greyback had made up some clever lie to explain his ability to shift at all times. The question was, should Evey let them know who their Alpha really was? Well, she couldn't think of a reason not to. She wasn’t bound by the Wolves’ secrecy, if such a thing even existed, considering Greyback’s apparent lack of caring. "He _is_ more."

Jabbar frowned at the floor. "What do you mean?"

Evey explained what little she knew of the Wolves, of their abilities. She didn't mention how she knew as much as she did, however, and said nothing of the Ancients. It was bad enough that she’d betrayed Antonin. She still felt terrible about it. She hoped that she hadn’t signed his death warrant. He was supposed to be invincible, but so was Greyback, apparently.

"Damn, I had no idea." Jabbar looked genuinely flabbergasted.

"There's a lot Greyback hasn't told you," Evey said. "It's crazy, really. You know next to nothing about the bloke and yet you follow him blindly." She hadn’t mentioned Greyback’s past. It wouldn’t serve her purpose, on the contrary; it would likely make him look like a martyr, and would strengthen his pack’s belief in the righteousness of their cause. In fact, for that very reason, it was strange that Greyback hadn’t revealed it himself.

Evey felt a twinge of guilt for lying to Jabbar, but it was ridiculous. Whatever she did, she was certain that Greyback had done worse.

"To be fair, we've never had any reason to question or doubt him,” Jabbar was saying. “I mean, we're not too happy about the whole Voldemort business, but it's only a means to an end. We all know that."

"But how can you expect that sort of things to help?" It felt like the same argument all over again. Evey had already debated the matter with Croyd and several others afterward. "At the risk of repeating myself, violence is _not_ the answer. If the public sees you as Voldemort's lackeys, it will only make it worse. For you specifically, but also for all werewolves, across the country, possibly worldwide. It will most certainly _not_ help the 'cause', as you call it." Maybe it was _too_ obvious, and that was why they couldn't see it? "You need a leader who can give you better living conditions by discussing, negotiating, compromising…by being reasonable and _diplomatic_. If you put Scabior in charge... But I already told him that. Wasting my breath on that one," she muttered sourly. "He's too attached to Greyback. He wouldn't act behind his back or openly defy him. Hell, he damn near worships the bloody man."

"For good reason," Jabbar pointed out. "V, he owes him. We all do. In most cases, it was a matter of taking us off the streets, away from the drugs, away from trouble in general. But some of us owe him their lives, Scabior included."

"I'm perfectly aware of that," Evey said with a grimace. Greyback was a lot of things, but he was far from stupid. Everything he did was carefully thought through, and he must have been planning this for years, if not decades. "That's how he operates. Don't you see? He appears like a saviour, makes sure you feel indebted to him, and once you join the pack, you must obey him, do whatever he says. Once you're in, there's no way out." Cunning, evil bastard.

"But he doesn't abuse his power," Jabbar protested. "We do obey him, but because we _choose_ to. He’s fair. He’d never ask anyone to do something that made them feel uncomfortable, and we don't work for Voldemort. He does, sure, but he would never ask that of _us_."

"But if he _did_ demand it of you, as your Alpha, would you be able to refuse him?" Evey asked softly. “If he _commanded_ you to?”

Jabbar didn't seem to have an answer to that question.

Better to change the subject. He'd made an effort to visit her; she shouldn't bother him with these things, not now. "What happens if you look me in the eyes?" she wondered with unconcealed curiosity. "Will you explode or something?" It was making her feel uneasy and self-conscious that he wouldn't meet her eyes. As though she was too monstrous to behold.

Jabbar shifted uncomfortably and grumbled something she didn't catch. He seemed to think that her hearing was as sharp as Greyback's, but it wasn’t. Evey knew that not drinking Wolfsbane on a monthly basis allowed Greyback's spawns to retain some of their werewolf abilities, to an extent, even in human form, but she possessed nothing of the sort while human. Her sense of smell was as dull as it had ever been, and the rest remained unchanged from the time prior to her first transformation.

"Alright, alright. Never mind. I'll get used to it, I guess." She would have to, by the looks of it.

Jabbar shrugged, then smiled as if remembering something. "Anyway," he said with some of his usual cheerfulness, "my original intention was to tell you that you're welcome to eat with us in the dining hall. It might be a bit awkward at first, but I'm sure they'll get used to it. Eventually.” Evey nodded gratefully. She’d been feeling left out, and a bit lonely. “And, um…” Jabbar cleared his throat. “Tonight’s the full moon. Fenrir’s gone, and…” He paused again, and briefly glanced at Evey’s face for the first time. “Well, would you like to run with us, wolf girl?"


	44. Dansent les ombres du monde

The day had finally come.

Walden never been so eager for Halloween in his life. He had convinced himself that everything would be alright now, that the Ancients would assist them in rescuing Evey, that Tony wouldn't get into too much trouble for turning him. This meeting was the only thing that had kept him going these past weeks.

Evey had to be alive. He would know if she were dead, wouldn't he? The day his mother had passed, Walden had awoken in the middle of the night, and he’d _known_ , even before Irina came to give him the sad news. Walden simply assumed that the same was true with Evey. There was no way that the earth would go on spinning if she were dead.

They'd had little luck in their search for her. The last werewolf Walden had interrogated – a little more forcefully than strictly necessary, perhaps, because he'd had a feeling that the man knew more than he let on – had revealed that Greyback's den was protected by a Fidelius Charm, among other things. Just as they'd suspected, but at least now they knew that Tony, or any other Ancient, might be able to find the place. Which was why he was so anxious to attend the bloody meeting.

Although, admittedly, he was also excited to meet the other Ancients, which was weird, because Walden usually avoided interacting with people, if at all possible. Evey and he had already figured out who some of them were, mainly thanks to Tony, who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it. But Walden wouldn't let his curiosity get in the way, of course. His priority was to find Evey – and to survive the meeting.

It would take place in a _château_ , in south-western France, near Bordeaux.

Travelling abroad via Apparition was heavily regulated, just like any other magical or Muggle means of transportation, even inside the EU. And, as Tony was officially dead, and Walden was now also supposed to be dead, they opted for a somewhat less…legal option. Walden had learned a lot about avoiding detection while Apparating when he was serving Voldemort, since his missions often took him out of the country.

Illegal Apparition provided a complicated network of secure spots around the world, if you knew how to operate it properly. They found themselves in French territory after Apparating at several different locations; thankfully, none was too far out of their time zone, otherwise Walden would have fallen asleep. And perhaps burnt to a crisp.

Once they were in France, they cast a simple – and quite illegal – spell on themselves so that the local wizarding authorities could not detect them, and then they were free to travel anywhere they liked.

Molly had agreed to cover for them, although there was hardly any need for it. Nobody ever bothered to talk to them, and especially to Walden, since he was only awake at night. Molly had agreed to keep it all a secret unless the safety of the Order was somehow compromised. They would only be gone for a night, in any case. Luckily for Walden, the meeting would begin at midnight, local time. The Ancients seemed to enjoy these silly references, like the meeting taking place on Halloween, for instance. Jeanne hadn't said anything about a disguise, but they'd had to find suits for the occasion. They’d briefly returned to Macnair manor to fetch some old clothes. Tony was the same size he'd always been, but Molly had had to alter Walden's old jacket to fit him.

The _château_ was a grand building, dating from somewhere around the 18th century, unless Walden was much mistaken. There was a double staircase in the front yard, and another inside, in the main hall, just like in a Disney movie. For all its grandeur, however, it was tastefully decorated, if somewhat opulent in style. Everything was white and gold, and all modern commodities blended pleasantly with the period furniture.

A slender, pretty man wearing a blood-red satin shirt invited them in and led them into the reception room, which must have been a ball room in its early days and was currently serving that very purpose: several men and women were dancing across the large space, on the varnished parquet floor. Walden recognised the music as Dmitri Shostakovich's _Waltz no. 2_ , which was being played on an old gramophone.

Exactly what sort of meeting was this? Jeanne had made no mention of a ball or party. There were a lot more people than Walden had expected, considering that there were only fourteen Ancients. Before he could ask his brother if they were in the right place, however, a youthful woman with heavy-lidded eyes accosted them. She was wearing a pink dress with a lot of superfluous frills.

"Antonin, my fellow countryman," she said with a small grin. She had a distinct Russian accent – unlike Tony, who spoke maybe ten words of his mother's original language, and had in fact never set foot on Russian soil in his life.

"Evening, comrade," Tony replied pleasantly, with the usual flirtatious smile he reserved for pretty women.

Walden couldn't tell who she was. He glanced at his brother, but the woman went on in a cheerful tone, looking straight into Tony's eyes and ignoring Walden entirely. "Dance with me." It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. She grabbed Tony's hand and pulled him after her. Tony spared Walden a resigned shrug before following the bouncy little woman.

Walden had to admit, he felt like an outsider even here, at the Halloween undead party. He wasn't the only 'regular' vampire around, he could tell – Tony said that "companions" were allowed, whatever that meant – but no one seemed to have noticed him, or perhaps they didn't care. There were about fifty people in the room, servants included. Among the other men, only two had the youthful face of the Ancients. Regular vampires weren't blessed with eternal youth, but were instead stuck at the age at which they'd died. _At least I'll never be forty_ , Walden thought with bitter amusement.

One of the men was obviously Vlad Dracula; the moustache was a dead giveaway. Though why he’d keep the same moustache for so long was a mystery. It stood out, and Walden had assumed that the Ancients wanted to keep a low profile, and to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. Vlad’s hair had been cut short, at least, and he – like everyone else in the room – wore fancy, modern clothes. Though “modern” ranged from the 1910’s to today, in this case.

Before Walden could study the rest of them, Jeanne suddenly materialised at his side. "Look at you, so elegant," she said with a genuine smile. "Are you sure this little girl of yours is worth all that trouble?" she added, placing a hand lightly on his good arm.

"Quite sure," he replied, removing her hand smoothly.

Jeanne gave a throaty laugh. "You can't blame a girl for trying." Her laughter died abruptly when she spotted Tony, who was still waltzing with the Russian woman. " _Non mais, pour qui elle se prend, celle-là?_ " she muttered darkly.

_Who does she think she is?_ Well, Walden would very much like to know who she was, as a matter of fact. "He's not going to remain chaste for the rest of…well, eternity…just to please you, you know," Walden pointed out.

Jeanne threw him a dirty look. "Nor do I expect him to. I don't _care_ what he does, as long as he remains discreet. But that Russian _catin_ … Ugh, she's awful. She's crazy."

"Yeah…” Walden cleared his throat. “So, um, who's she?" he asked, abandoning all pretence at subtlety.

Jeanne shook her head ruefully. "You might have made it this far, _mon cher_ , but I'm still not supposed to let you know these things." She was quiet for a moment. "On the other hand, if you were to discover it on your own…" She was grinning now. "Antonin told me that you were passionate about history. Let's put that knowledge to the test, shall we?" Walden nodded eagerly. "She was a Russian noble lady – although 'noble' hardly applies in this instance – who was accused of torturing to death over a hundred of her serfs. She is now known as the Sadist. Which, I must say, is both perfectly adequate and painfully lame." Jeanne gave Walden an expectant look.

Did they choose their epithets themselves, or were the names forced upon them? Walden couldn't think of a reason why anyone would want to be known as the Sadist. He’d never heard of that Ancient before; either she was a new one or, more likely, she’d changed her name several times to confuse the few historians who had attempted to unmask the Ancients, and to prove their existence in the process. In any case, that was not exactly the sort of things Walden was fascinated about, but his brother had once offered him a book about the most notorious serial killers in history. She could only be one person – Darya Nikolayevna Saltykova, also called the Saltychikha. Jeanne smiled approvingly when he whispered the name, aware that nearly everyone here could likely hear what he was saying, if they chose to focus on him.

But why would anyone turn such a person into an immortal vampire with amazingly powerful abilities? He turned the question to Jeanne, who shrugged. "I've told you that the Queen scouts the world in search of the next potential candidate. She looks among the famous as well as the infamous, because she thinks that people can change, that they can be made better, that they deserve a second chance. Which is why so many of us have a criminal past, since she started to do the recruiting on her own," Jeanne went on with a smile.

The Queen – Gorgo, of ancient Sparta. Walden had to admit that he very much wanted to meet _her_ , but it seemed prudent not to let Jeanne know that Tony had revealed her identity to him. "And…do they? Change, I mean. Because you clearly dislike Darya."

"Well, the fact is that the Queen only reports her finds to the next Ancient in line – then it's up to them to pick the one they wish to turn. With the Bloodmother's approval, of course. Darya was bitten by…the Dragon."

"That one was quite obvious, you know," Walden said with a smirk. "You can call him by name."

Jeanne made an impatient gesture. "I know, I know. Not sure what it was about him, but apparently he just _had_ to be one of us, I was told." She made a dismissive gesture. "He's not that bad, I suppose. Not much to look at, but he's cultivated, refined. Far from the barbarian image I had in mind. Not so his progeny. But to the Queen's credit, it's true that most of us have repented, and are trying to do some good. Darya is an exception," she added with blatant distaste.

"Now, what do we have here?" someone said from behind them. Walden turned to see a tall, flame-haired woman. Her accent was faintly Irish. "My daughter, it's been too long." She embraced Jeanne and kissed her on both cheeks, and Jeanne returned the woman's warm smile.

"Walden, this is my maker. The Witch."

The taller woman laughed softly. "Please. Call me Alice. You know I'm not terribly fond of the name _he_ gave me." She glanced toward the second Ancient man, a robust bloke with a shaved head. The man bowed slightly in their direction when he caught them looking at him, before returning to his conversation with Dracula.

Walden assumed that they were named by their makers, then. He wondered who this Alice was, but no obvious answer came to mind. "I thought Antonin was the first person with magical abilities among the Ancients," he said with a small frown.

"Oh, but he is," Alice said. "I am no witch. I didn't even know there _were_ real witches until I was turned. But enough about me." She grinned at Jeanne. "Tell me all about this new companion of yours, my darling daughter."

"He's not mine. Unfortunately," Jeanne said with a pout. "He came with Antonin."

"Really? I didn't know he was…one of those."

Walden's eyes widened when he realised what she meant. "Oh no, it's not like that, um, Miss...Alice. We're not…" he stammered.

Jeanne was laughing. "I wish. Unfortunately, though, my Antonin's not very picky about his conquests." She cocked her head toward Antonin and Darya. Alice had the same moue of distaste as her “daughter” as she watched the two of them whirl around the room. Shostakovich had been replaced by Sviridov.

"Who is he, then?" Alice asked, eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious. "Why has Antonin brought him here? He can't just invite every vampire he meets!"

Jeanne raised her hands in a placating gesture. "It's nothing like that. Don't fret, Alice. All will be well."

Alice scowled. "What is that supposed to mean? What has he–" She was cut off as a resounding gong went off somewhere in the _château_. To Walden's enhanced hearing, it felt like the gong had been hit right inside his skull.

A short, ebony-skinned woman had entered the room. Her wavy black hair was woven into a thick, intricate braid decorated with various golden accessories. She wore a crimson gown that would not have been out of place in the 1920's. She didn't look like an Ancient – her handsome face was neither youthful nor old, and she didn't have the others' glossy pale skin – and yet she radiated power and majesty.

Everyone had paused in their conversations and activities to stare at her.

The Bloodmother had arrived.

It looked like the meeting was about to begin in earnest.


	45. That is the doom that we must deem

"You are not allowed to attend this part, not unless we call for you," Jeanne quickly muttered to Walden. Alice shot them both a sharp glance, and Antonin was gazing at his brother, obviously wondering what to do.

Jeanne left Walden where he was and joined her progeny. The damned Russian madwoman was still holding on to him. Jeanne threw her a withering glare and, grinning maliciously, the Sadist finally withdrew. She winked at Antonin before departing. He gave her an uncertain smile in return. "What were you thinking, cavorting with that one?" Jeanne hissed at him.

"Cavorting? We were just dancing! Besides, she didn't give me much choice. Hey, Alice," he added to the only other woman who shared their blood.

Alice smiled thinly but made no reply. She obviously suspected that something was wrong. Well, she was quite right about that.

They made their way to the beautifully arranged room where the meeting would take place. There was a long mahogany table at its centre, and fourteen carved chairs. Several carafes containing freshly harvested human blood were placed on the table. The carafes and glasses were pure crystal, of course. It was Catalina's turn to host the meeting, and the woman had a pronounced taste for everything expensive and overly luxurious. It was always pleasant to be her guest. The woman herself took a seat at one end of the table, as it was customary for the hostess to sit across from the Bloodmother. Jeanne and Alice sat with Antonin between them, as if to shield him from the others. If only they could.

She hadn't had time to bring Alice in the loop – or, more to the point, she had been reluctant to do so. The woman was affectionate and understanding enough, at least compared to some of the others, but even she couldn't condone what Antonin had done. This was going to be a lively debate.

* * *

Tony sat down gingerly besides Jeanne and saw that Alice had seated herself to his right. He'd had no contact with his maker since their last…conversation at the Burrow, and he had no idea if she'd told anyone yet. From the wary look in Alice's eyes, however, he assumed that she wasn't aware of the situation – and if she wasn't, no one else was. She was, after all, his grandmother, in a manner of speaking.

He felt awkward around Jeanne. On the one hand, she hadn’t killed Natalie, as she’d implied, but the fact that she even knew about her was troubling enough. Was she having him followed? On the other hand, while he regretted his outburst – though it was justified, in his opinion – Jeanne hadn’t bothered to try to make peace with him. She’d asked Walden to do that for her. Tony didn’t know what to make of it, but he supposed that there were more pressing matters. Like finally knowing if he was going to be executed or not.

The blood contained in the sparkling carafe right in front of him was practically calling to him, but he hesitated to pour himself a glass. No one else was drinking. He figured that the others had permanent sources of blood at their disposal. Eventually, Jeanne nudged him in the ribs. "Drink, burn you. How long has it been?" Only a couple of months, in truth, but that was a long time to go without blood, even for an Ancient. The older ones, like Alice’s maker, were said to be able to go years without suffering from thirst-induced bloodlust, but Tony was like a newborn, by Ancient standards. However, feeding off Molly had been a traumatising experience that he had no intention of repeating, if it could be avoided. "Now is not the time for you to go mad, my precious child. And do quit that fidgeting. It's making me nervous," Jeanne went on. Tony realised that he'd been fiddling with his tie and made himself stop. He poured some blood in his glass and took a sip. His attempt at restraint was cut short as soon as the blood touched his lips. He drained the glass thirstily and was about to have a second when he noticed the Countess's unpleasant gaze on him. She gave him a crooked smile, showing teeth, and he slowly put the carafe back where it had been. He would have another drink later.

These decennial meetings were mostly intended to hear the Queen's reports on potential new recruits. The fact that Antonin had joined their ranks only a year and a half ago didn't matter – if they were lucky enough to find several people who were worthy of receiving the gift in such a short period of time, they would certainly welcome them. There was rarely more than one person on her list, however, and sometimes none at all.

As was the case today. The 20th century could have provided the Ancients with an incredible number of famous, brilliant women – or men, although women were always preferred to men, it seemed – but sadly, none of them had the spark. Tony himself had never sensed it, that feeling that told an Ancient that a mortal could potentially be turned into one of them. Not that it would ever be of any use to him, of course. Not anymore.

He'd been worried for weeks about the judgement his fellows would pass, but now that he was here, he found himself…well, not composed, and certainly not ready for whatever would come, but at least he would know his fate soon. No more waiting. No more wondering if they would kill him slowly or quickly, or if they would start with Walden and force him to watch.

No more wondering if they would leave Evey to rot. If she was even alive – but Tony was strangely more confident in that fact as time went by. Either Walden’s grim optimism was affecting him, or he simply expected that Greyback would have let them know, one way or another, if he’d killed her. He would have left her body where the Order would find it, or… Well, admittedly, that was provided that he hadn’t eaten her.

Gods. He had to stop thinking about that. It was making him even more anxious.

"Well, let's begin, then," their hostess spoke in crisp tones. Her English was tolerable at best, the Spanish accent heavy. "I believe you're all aware that Gorgo came to us empty-handed." There was no trace of accusation in her tone, but rather a resigned disappointment. There were a few nods and murmurs of affirmation. "Then I think we should give the floor to Jeanne, who sent ahead a last-minute request that she would like to address us before we discuss anything else." That made everyone frown. This was probably not a common occurrence. Even Alice turned to eye her progeny, obliviously wondering what had happened – and why she hadn't been forewarned. Only the Bloodmother seemed to retain her usual poise, patiently waiting for events to unfold, as she had done for the last five millennia, give or take a year.

Jeanne rose smoothly from her chair. Even standing, she was barely taller than Tony. She spoke quietly but firmly. "I'm afraid I must relay dire news. A grave mistake has been made, and I can only request, in all humility, that you allow me to explain the situation in its entirety before judging." She was quite good at this. Tony wondered idly if she'd learnt the speech beforehand or was improvising it on the spot. She laid a hand on his shoulder before continuing. "My progeny has turned his brother into a vampire, and it was brought to my attention that the man did not have the spark." Before anyone could speak – not that anyone looked able to; most of them appeared horrified, mouths hanging open – Jeanne went on. "You may have seen him earlier. He's the hot one with the missing forearm," she said with her usual tact. That was all she had time to say before the storm finally erupted.

"Shame!" a woman shouted; Tony wasn't certain which one.

"Disgrace!" Catalina yelled. "He must be punished for this outrage! Exiled, or put to death, the true death! I call for–"

"Oh, do shut up, ye bleedin' pox," Alice growled at her. "Let the girl talk, for God's sake." Tony almost smiled at her – almost. That would have been a mistake, he could tell. She did _not_ look happy.

They were all trying to speak at the same time – some in their native languages – and, as a result, no words could be distinguished in the cacophony. The Bloodmother remained perfectly still. Nothing showed on her ageless face. Then she raised a hand, and everyone fell silent at once. Without a word, she gestured for Jeanne to continue.

Jeanne nodded graciously. "Thank you, Mother." She turned to the rest of them. "I understand your reaction. It is not unlike my own upon discovering the matter. But who here has witnessed the death of a loved one, post-transformation?" There were no replies. "No one. None of you – none of us – have ever been placed in that situation."

"For good reason," the Countess snarled. She must have been the one who’d shouted earlier. "Fledglings are never allowed anywhere _near_ their kin after they've been turned. Did you mention that to him? Or are you also responsible for that _mistake_?"

"An exception was made because of his status. He is a wizard, as you all know, and I knew therefore that his family must be aware of the existence of vampires. I thought it would be no trouble."

"I seconded that decision," Gorgo murmured. "I have always been in favour of allowing the blood and kin to be told, and I–"

"You fools!" This was the Asp. "How was this done without our consent? A vote should have been taken, just like when Jeanne pleaded for him to be turned." She'd voted against him, Jeanne had told him. In fact, most of them had. The turning shouldn’t have been approved – Jeanne had received five positive votes against seven negative ones. The Bloodmother, however, who took no part in the vote, could overrule any decision, if she felt like it. For some reason, she’d validated Jeanne’s request, despite the majority of nays.

"The Mother sanctioned this, Pat," Jeanne said acidly. She was losing countenance; her hand, still on Tony’s shoulder, was balled into a fist. "I didn't act behind anyone's back. I was told that there was no need to consult the rest of you regarding this matter."

Cleopatra, who had once believed herself the incarnation of a goddess – that was the name she had wanted to take for herself, but the Bloodmother, her maker, had decided otherwise – turned to the woman who had ultimately transcended her, but received only a cold stare in return. As if Jeanne would be stupid enough to claim the Mother's assent in her presence if it were not true. The Asp recoiled slightly under that gaze.

"That is not the point," Catalina said. "What is done is done. Now we must discuss the consequences of his terrible crime." She glared at Tony. "Do you realise what you've done, _chico_? You have ended your line. You have–"

"I know what I did, alright?" Tony said harshly. Alice gave him a warning glance. Of course he bloody well knew. He was also aware that he was the youngest – by far – in the room, but that didn't mean she had to address him as if he were a child, and a retarded one at that. He went on before Jeanne could interrupt him. "But you know what? I'd do it again." He couldn't have said a worse thing, but at that moment he knew that it was the truth, plain and simple. He didn't regret his action, and he would do it again without hesitation.

That brought out curses from some of the others and puzzled stares from the rest. Jeanne pinched the bridge of her nose in despair. Tony expected the Mother to demand silence once more, but she appeared transfixed by him. Her dark eyes seemed to pierce his soul, and he could only stare back, as if hypnotised.

It was Alice who finally called for silence, shouting in what he assumed was Gaelic. "I think that we should first consider the fact that no mere mortal was ever turned by one of us before. We should at least find out the effects that the transformation had on the lad, before we shout the air apart. May we bring Antonin's brother in for interrogation, Mother?"

The original vampire, the maker of all, was silent for a long moment. Everyone waited quietly for her answer. Then she spoke, and this was the first time that Tony heard her voice. He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but what came out was a voice like any other, clear and slightly accented, although it seemed to hold all the power in the universe. It was a voice you wouldn't dream of disobeying. "Bring him forth," she said simply, addressing Tony.


	46. A girl worth fighting for

Walden stood staring gloomily at some abstract painting when Tony finally came out of the room. To be fair, it couldn't have been more than half an hour since the meeting had started, but he was impatient. They couldn't afford to lose any more _time_ , for fuck's sake. What was taking so long? If they'd decided to kill them, let them get on with it already. Walden certainly wouldn't go down without a fight.

His brother signalled for him to follow inside. Tony didn't look like someone who'd just been sentenced to death; that was something.

When Walden walked in, thirteen pair of eyes – well, twelve and a half – looked up in unison. Some of the Ancients were clearly angry, but the others appeared mostly intrigued. Jeanne was the only one standing, and she gestured for Walden to stay where he was. Tony stood beside him after closing the door behind them.

"Everyone, this is Walden," Jeanne introduced him. "He is not Antonin's blood brother, but his only living family nonetheless."

"They're not even blood kin?" a fiery-haired woman exclaimed, astonishment plain on her delicate face. "This is–"

"He _is_ my brother, alright?" Tony interrupted her. "Give us a break, Cat. I get that you're pissed off, but just shut up and listen, for Merlin's sake. There's more at stake than you know."

"What do you mean by that, blood of my blood?" the tall, bald man Walden had spotted earlier demanded calmly.

Walden heard Jeanne mutter in French. " _Mais tais-toi, bon sang. Tu ne fais qu'empirer les choses_."

Walden didn't know if Tony was really making things worse, but he figured that now would be a good time to try to defuse the situation. "What he means, sir," – he still had no idea who the man was – "is that there's more to this…issue than first meets the eye." When no one said anything, he went on. "But first, I'm sure that you'd like to know what Tony’s turned me into." The man nodded, as did several other Ancients. "I'm afraid I'm a common vampire, for the most part. I sleep during the day, I drink animal blood, sunlight is lethal to me… Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that I can retract my fangs at will." He smiled tentatively to demonstrate. "That's not much, granted."

The only person who smiled back was a slender woman of medium height, with wavy, dark brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. "Can you turn invisible?" she asked him softly.

"No, I cannot, ma'am," Walden replied politely. That made her chuckle, for some reason.

"That is disappointing," the tall man said with a rueful expression. "Most disappointing indeed." He was seated beside Alice, who put a hand on his arm.

"Enough of this useless chitchat! He's a plain vampire, and the fledgling has fucked up. I think we can all agree on that, at least." The woman who'd spoken was rather tall, with short white hair that contrasted with her youthful face. She had the complexion of someone who must have been very dark-skinned, before becoming a vampire. She had a crisp London accent. No one contradicted her, so she continued. "Tell us, handsome, what else is going on? We're dying to know." She giggled at her little joke, but no one else reacted to it.

Walden glanced at Tony, then looked toward Jeanne. She nodded to him and sat back down in her chair. She would let him explain. Good.

It took Walden some time to recount Evey's story – he had to give them some context. When he first mentioned Greyback, as he related the attack perpetrated against the Kanes, there was a collective gasp around the table.

" _The_ Greyback?" an Asian woman demanded. Chinese, Walden thought. She held herself proudly. He wondered who she was.

"Yes, the Wolf," Jeanne replied glumly. "The fool who dares call himself Fenrir."

"Just let the lad finish his story, Ching," Alice chided the Chinese woman.

Ching Shih, the pirate lady? Bloody hell! Walden had always loved pirate tales as a kid. He hoped that he would get an opportunity to talk to her, when this was over. Well, her and the others – if they decided not to have him executed, of course.

"Actually, now might be a good time to mention the Wolves," Jeanne said. "I haven't briefed them yet."

She proceeded to explain that the Wolves – those who were usually called “Elders” in the children's books – were immortal werewolves with special abilities. They were, in essence, the werewolf equivalent of the Ancients. Walden had already figured out as much. It explained why Jeanne had appeared so agitated at the mention of the werewolf's name, when she’d visited the Burrow.

When she was done, Jeanne allowed Walden to pursue his story. He kept it short and to the point.

A moment of complete silence ensued as everyone contemplated the situation. "This girl, your fiancée, she can't actually turn into a werewolf, can she?" Alice asked, her keen eyes narrowed.

"No, she can't,” Walden replied. “And she has no ability that is specific to werewolves – although she could already regenerate rapidly before Tony bit her, so we must assume she got that from Greyback, if it’s a thing the Wolves can do."

"Well, she also has an incredible metabolism," Tony pointed out.

"And she can turn invisible at will? For unlimited periods of time?" Alice went on, ignoring Tony's remark.

"I don't know how long she can remain invisible. She didn't do it very often," Walden admitted.

"This girl could be your only shot at redeeming yourself, fledgling," the woman with the London accent told Antonin. "She doesn't have fangs, so it's unlikely that she can turn people into vampires, Ancients or not – she's not one herself, from what your not-blood brother tells us – but if she can procreate…"

The words hung heavily in the air. Unlike normal vampires, none of the Ancients could bear children, Walden knew. He'd considered the fact; he'd known they would eventually come to that conclusion as well. He had no idea whether Evey could have children, though, and no idea what any child she bore would turn out to be. But until they knew for certain, this was their best chance at rescuing her. If there was even the slightest possibility that she could bear children and transmit the Ancient gene… This could change everything, for the Ancients. They couldn't pass up the chance. They would _have_ to rescue her. Preferably soon, before Greyback got the same idea and attempted to make Wolf cubs.

_Gods, I hope he hasn’t considered that. It would mean that Evey was being kept alive, but at what cost?_ Walden shuddered violently at the thought.

"But you tell us that she was abducted in June. How do you know that she's still alive?" Darya asked bluntly.

"I don't," Walden murmured. "Not for sure. I can only hope that she is. That Greyback realised she was special and kept her alive and unharmed to…” _Rape her. To try to get her pregnant with a werewolf of his pack._ “…I don't know, study her or something. I know the reputation he's made for himself, but he's not a brainless savage.” _He’s not brainless, but he_ is _savage._ “I hope he's curious about her, and is trying to puzzle her out." He also hoped that Evey hadn't driven the man insane by mouthing off constantly. The werewolf was utterly unpredictable when triggered.

"We must help them find the girl," the pretty woman with the dark, wavy hair declared eventually.

"I agree." That was Alice.

"Of course you do, you would do anything to protect Jeanne’s progeny," the woman Tony had called Cat retorted. "But even if the girl can bear children, I still think that the fledgling should be punished. And we have no use for the mongrel brother," she added disdainfully.

Walden was tired of being called that. "And if you get rid of me, which one of you will procreate with her?" he asked wryly. "As far as I know, I'm the closest thing to a fertile male Ancient you've got."

"He's right, Cat," the tall man interjected before the flame-haired woman could respond. "This is our only hope at restoring our line."

"And if it works out as we hope, it will change everything. For all of us," Jeanne said eagerly. "There may be others like this girl. A chance for us to vastly increase our numbers."

That, Walden hadn't considered. He supposed that there may be others like Evey, but that was of no concern to him. They could discuss the matter further at a later date. Before he could move on to actually staging a rescue, however, he realised that they were going to debate this at length.

"But she's been polluted by the Wolf," Cat said.

"Catalina has a point," the Dragon conceded.

"What I propose," Alice said, "is that we find the girl first, _then_ decide what should be done about Antonin and his brother. We must see this Evey for ourselves, study her and estimate how much of her was contaminated by the Wolf. Only then could a fair judgement be passed; only then may we decide if the right balances the wrong."

"But how exactly are we supposed to _find_ the bloody girl?” the white-haired Londoner asked. “Does anyone know where she is, where the Wolf has established his lair?"

"I'll take care of that," Jeanne replied. "Give me a few days. I'll root the damned beast out. I already have a few leads…"

"You will not find him, my child." The Bloodmother spoke in a low voice, but was easily heard from across the room. Everyone had fallen dead silent the moment she’d opened her mouth. "Our counterparts have tricks to conceal themselves, even from us. And this Greyback is a skilled wizard, with sinister acquaintances."

No one else dared to speak into the silence that followed her ominous statement, so Walden cleared his throat. "There must be a way," he said, despair in his voice. There were so close…

"Oh, there is indeed." Her black eyes met his, and Walden shivered involuntarily. It felt like staring into the Void. "We must convene a meeting with the Wolves."

* * *

Walden was told to leave the room once it was decided that he wouldn’t be killed right away, and that a meeting would be arranged between Ancients and Wolves to discuss Evey's safe return. He had to wait another hour before the meeting was finally adjourned. Tony joined him outside, with Jeanne and Alice.

"The Mother will attempt to contact the Wolves' leader – apparently, _he's_ the one they call the Elder," Tony said.

"Indeed, although we've had no dealings with him that I know of, not since I've been turned," Jeanne said.

Alice nodded. "I believe the Mother and her…counterpart have a history, but nobody knows exactly what happened between the two of them. Imhotep claims that he’s never even met the man, and he's been around for quite a while."

Imhotep? That had to be the tall man, the third male Ancient – or, more accurately, the first. Walden’s mind was somersaulting. According to history, he had been a high-ranking official during the reign of the Pharaoh Djoser, sometime during the 27th century BCE. He was an architect, and a high priest of the sun god, Ra. According to myth and legend, however, he was almost a god himself.

Walden was trying to digest that new piece of information when he suddenly remembered that this was not what he was supposed to be thinking about. _Focus, burn you. You can geek out later, with Evey, after she’s been rescued._ "Will the Elder turn up before the sun rises, or do you think I should find a place to sleep?" he asked the others.

Alice let out a dry laugh. "Oh, I wouldn't expect him any time soon, lad. There will be a lot of talking and arguing before they even agree to meet with us, of that you can be certain. I'm not even sure if the Mother knows how to reach the Elder, or if he will talk to her when she does."

Bloody hell. Another delay. "Can't we help?” Walden offered. “We can Apparate, or send magical messages to the bloke. Surely we can hurry this up–"

"Walden, you must be patient," Jeanne told him gently, far from her usual brisk manner. "The Mother is old, and what you consider a long time is only the blink of an eye, to her. You must not interfere, you must not try to rush things. You're lucky enough to be alive – and that no one decided that you should be dissected." Alice nodded in agreement, and Tony shrugged helplessly.

Brilliant. More waiting. Walden wasn't sure how much more of that he could take but, unfortunately, he didn’t have much choice in the matter.


	47. Thus is agreement made

Antonin felt Jeanne summoning him like a physical pull drawing him to his maker. He could tell exactly where she was: right outside the Burrow. Thankfully, she'd had the presence of mind not to simply barge inside.

It had been over three weeks since they'd met in France. Walden was so anxious that Tony was actually glad for the sunrise, sometimes counting the minutes until his brother would finally fall asleep. He was getting out of control, still slipping away at night to look for clues and – Tony suspected – using illegal curses to obtain information from unwary werewolves. It led him nowhere, of course, but he didn't let that stop him. He would go mad, if Evey wasn't found soon. And she was dead… Well, Tony didn’t even want to consider the possibility, at this point.

Jeanne was also sensible enough to come during day time, when Walden was slumbering and most everyone was out for work – all except Molly. Tony walked in the kitchen and cleared his throat so that Molly wouldn't have a heart attack. She turned toward him, frowning. "Jeanne's here," he said sheepishly. "Do you mind if she comes upstairs so we can talk?"

Molly sighed. "More secrets?"

"No. Well, that is, yes, but it's not very important." That had to be the biggest lie he'd ever uttered in her presence, and he regretted it as soon as he said it. "You know what? You're right. This concerns Evey, and she's as important to you as she is to us." He doubted that Jeanne would see it that way, but never mind that now.

Tony opened the front door a moment later, and his maker glowered at him. "Took your sweet time." She entered without waiting for an invitation. Well, she didn't need one, not now that Molly had invited her in the first time. One of the Weasleys would have to formally rescind the invitation to keep Jeanne out at this point.

Jeanne grimaced when she spotted Molly. " _Encore la rouquine_ ," she muttered sourly. Tony, who didn’t have Walden’s nerdy knowledge of multiple languages, only had the vaguest idea what she’d said, but he suspected some nasty comment about Molly being here. His maker took a seat and gestured for Tony to join her. Molly sat across from them and Jeanne ignored her so ostensibly that she might as well have glared at her. "A meeting has been arranged," she announced without preamble. "It will take place in four days, in a neutral location. At night," she added. "The Mother insisted upon it, so that Walden could attend."

"Where?" Tony asked. "France again?"

Jeanne shook her head. "No, it will be held here, in England. At Stonehenge."

Tony stared at her, puzzled. "The area is heavily restricted because of the masses of tourists. How is that an appropriate location to hold any sort of secret meeting?" Honestly, whose brilliant idea was _that_?

Jeanne laughed, her delicate nose crinkling prettily. "I have connections, Antonin. We all do. The place will be empty of tourists and guards, I assure you. And the landmark is more than appropriate. It's perfect. The magic there, it's older than any of us, as old as the Mother herself. A church's consecrated ground is of no interest to us, but Stonehenge is different. It will offer protection."

Well, that sounded quite mystical. There was always much speculation surrounding the ancient stones, but nothing of import had ever happened there that Tony knew about. But hey, who was he to contradict the Bloodmother? If she thought they should meet there, they would – and not a moment too soon.

* * *

Antonin, Walden and Jeanne were the last to arrive, as instructed.

"I must warn you," Jeanne whispered to Antonin and Walden, "it would be best if you remained silent unless someone addresses you directly." She met Walden's eyes. "No matter how much you may disagree with what is being said." Walden grumbled indistinctly in reply.

Alice glanced at Jeanne as they approached, and she looked oddly worried. What could she be worried about? The Elder wasn't even going to attend the meeting, only some of his puppets, while all Ancients were present. The Wolves were badly outnumbered. It was a wonder that they'd even agreed to meet in these conditions.

Malkoran – the infamous, mysterious Elder – hadn't deigned to respond to the Mother's request that they meet. She had therefore decided to call his Wolves instead, and after long and strenuous negotiations, they had agreed to gather at Stonehenge. The few who had answered the invitation were those who despised Greyback, the ones who disapproved of his actions, notably his alliance with the dark wizard who called himself Voldemort. (What a ridiculous name. It was even worse than the Wolves' nicknames, and that was saying something. One of them was called Maneater. Seriously.) There were seven of them, which meant that the Wolves were evenly split. Jeanne had done extensive research to discover precisely who they were, of course. It was her job.

Most of the Wolves were sitting on the ancient stones, or leaning against them, while the vampires stood rigidly on the other side of the large circle, arms crossed. No one was talking. The Mother alone sat in a comfortable chair, in the midst of all, seemingly unperturbed. She rose from her seat with an eerie grace when Jeanne entered the stone circle and she gestured for the three of them to stand at her side.

The Wolves had risen as well. They didn't look particularly concerned, despite being outnumbered two to one. One of the werewolves moved forward, a tall, clean-shaven man with a commanding air. William I, commonly dubbed the Conqueror. Among his kind, he was known as Razorteeth. Jeanne assumed that he was in charge, though it was sometimes difficult to tell, with werewolves. Or men in general, really. "Mother," he began politely, "it is an honour to make your acquaintance at last." He bowed his head slightly. "You told us that one of your own was being held captive by Greyback – and yet I see that all of your children are present this night, including a new Ancient, if I'm not mistaken. And this one," he indicated Walden, "is a simple vampire, as far as I can make out."

"That is correct," the Bloodmother replied quietly. "The Wizard joined our ranks almost two years ago. I assumed that you would already know of this. Malkoran is usually better informed." She made no mention of Walden.

Another Wolf stepped forward, a red-haired man with an impressive beard. That had to be the Viking bloke, Erik Thorvaldsson. "Malkoran concerns himself little with the world these days. In fact, he has not been seen or heard from in many years, Mother."

"I see," the Bloodmother said dismissively. That explained why he hadn’t replied to her messages, at least, but the Mother would likely consider Malkoran’s indifference as a personal affront regardless. "The matter is quite simple: we demand that the girl be released forthwith. She belongs to us." She had already explained the situation before arranging a formal meeting, although not all the facts had been revealed, obviously.

"But who _is_ she?" one of the other Wolves asked in a reedy voice. It was the one they called Moonsinger. He seemed to be in his nineties, which made him easy to identify: Ramesses II. Jeanne knew that, unlike the Ancients, the Wolves kept the appearance they'd had when they were transformed; no eternal youth for them. As to why anyone would bite a decrepit old man, even one as distinguished as the one-time Pharaoh, she couldn't begin to imagine. "Whiptail here visited Greyback's den only a few months past," he went on, indicating one of his fellows, "and he sensed something odd, out of the ordinary, but it certainly was no Ancient."

"The girl is no Ancient," the Bloodmother admitted, "but she belongs to us nonetheless," she repeated firmly. "She was bitten by one of us and possesses an ability that is entirely ours."

"But you also said that the cub bit her," Razorteeth insisted. "Doesn't that make her one of _us_? She is bound to Greyback by blood, at least as much as she is to your progeny."

"Which one are you, again?" Darya wondered innocently. "Cottontail?" The Wolf glared at her. "She's a _girl_ , you idiot. Since when do you beasts take girls in?" _On aurait dû la bâillonner, celle-là_ , Jeanne thought in annoyance. Making the Wolves angry would serve no purpose. Hell, they were on the same side. Everyone here wanted to see that Greyback reaped what he had sowed.

"If I may, Mother?" Gorgo asked softly. The Bloodmother nodded for her to speak her mind. Gorgo held herself as she must have when she stood at her husband's side, like the Queen she was and always had been. "The girl doesn't 'belong' to anyone. She is a person, not a good to be sold at market," she told them all chidingly. Walden grunted approvingly, but remained blessedly silent.

Alice took a step forward. "The Queen is correct. The facts are as follow, gentlemen: the girl was taken against her will and is currently held captive – at least we hope she is. Greyback may have already killed her." She surveyed the Wolves with hard eyes. "And may I remind you that Greyback _bit_ her, regardless of the rule that binds us all, which states that we must maintain secrecy at all times. I find that messily murdering an entire family and biting a witch is not particularly…discreet."

"And let's not forget the fact that Greyback kept her a secret even from _you_ ," Jeanne added. That should increase their distrust of the werewolf.

"Should he even be allowed to consort with warlocks as he does?" Alice went on. "The whole wizarding world knows his name. If he is captured, you could be discovered – and bring us down with you."

"I hereby formally request that Greyback be brought before us and tried for his actions," the Ripper declared suddenly. Jeanne winced, half-expecting the Bloodmother to lash out, but she merely nodded in silent assent. When no one spoke, the Londoner bore on. "He threatens us all and must be arrested before he can cause more damage." It annoyed Jeanne that, although she now knew the name of every single Wolf, she hadn't yet uncovered the Ripper's identity. It was rumoured that even Catalina, who had turned her, didn't know her true name.

"Look, lady, we can't deny that he's over the line," the one called Blackstripes said, "but I've never heard of anyone being judged for anything of the sort." He paused, eyeing her with narrowed eyes. "It's especially funny coming from you, Miss Ripper," he went on with a broad grin. Mm. Apparently, they had done their homework as well.

"Any crime I may or may not have committed was perpetrated before my ascent," the Ripper retorted coolly. The 'ascent' was how the Ancients sometimes referred to their transformation, though it was a bit overdramatic, if you asked Jeanne.

Razorteeth raised his hands in a placating gesture. "What I believe my fellow is trying to say is that we don't have the authority to proceed to a formal arrest or judgement," he clarified, shooting a warning glance in Blackstripes's direction.

"If Malkoran refuses to take part, what choice do we have?" Alice asked pointedly.

"It's not as easy as you think, Miss Kyteler.” They were going to rub their names in their faces, were they? Classy. Very subtle. Typical of the brutish fools. “We have no hold over Greyback, no way to make him obey. That fancy summoning power you people got, or whatever it is exactly, we don't have it. Even Goldeneyes can't make him do anything." Blackstripes hesitated for a moment. "Not sure even old Mal could."

Goldeneyes. That was Grigori Rasputin, Greyback’s maker. Jeanne hadn’t found anything relevant regarding his whereabouts, and she suspected that the Wolves themselves had no idea where he was. He’d apparently vanished from the surface of the earth soon after they’d banished him.

The Viking rolled his eyes in irritation. "You want the girl, yes? Can't we leave it at that?"

"Drop the charges against Greyback and let you deal with him as you see fit, provided that the girl is returned to us in pristine condition?" Alice said with an arched eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose we could agree to that."

"Don't be a fool, woman," the man formerly known as Hernán Cortés spat out. He now bore the supposedly well-earned epithet ‘Demonslayer’. "We have no way of knowing in what _condition_ the damned girl might be. We'll return her to you, aye, but you'll have to make do with just that. There's nothing any of us can do against Greyback, no matter what he might have done to her." Cortés glowered at them all in turn. "And no matter how much we might want to," he added sourly.

"Then let us deal with him directly. _We_ can handle him," Darya said firmly.

"You expect us to reveal his location to you?" Cortés nearly choked on the words, looking at her as if she'd gone mad. "We are not traitors, burn you!"

"Regardless of his actions, Greyback is still one of us," Moonsinger explained calmly. "I propose this: we will visit his current place of residence. Three of us will go. If he is there, we will attempt to negotiate with him. If that proves vain, we will take the girl by force. If he is absent, we will bring the girl back to you and deal with Greyback later."

"I second this. We must handle Greyback on our own. He is of no concern to you. You should be glad that the girl is left to you without a fight, given her mixed blood," Cortés told them haughtily.

"Then so be it," the Bloodmother announced.

Razorteeth bowed his head to her once more. "We will contact you again as soon as it is done, Mother."

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Blackstripes added with a cheerful smile. The Ripper scoffed contemptuously.

 _That sounds reasonable enough_ , Jeanne thought. She was surprised at how easily they had come to an agreement. Although, admittedly, they had no way of knowing what would actually happen when the Wolves entered Greyback's den. What if the girl was there, alive, but they decided that they should keep her after all? There would be nothing the Ancients could do short of starting a war. Jeanne shuddered at the thought. No such thing had ever occurred. Whatever had passed between the Mother and Malkoran, she had not allowed it to influence their (almost inexistent) relationship with the Wolves. Alice seemed to have the same thought, and Jeanne could see the worry in Antonin's eyes. Walden simply looked grimly determined. He was probably considering the best way to destroy the Wolves, should they renege on their word.

The damned hybrid girl had better be worth the trouble.


	48. A pirate, a samurai and a conquistador walk into a prison…

Following her surprise transformation some weeks ago, Evey had quickly realised that playing basketball – or any sport or game, really – with the other werewolves was akin to cheating. They always let her win. So, in the spirit of fairness and sportsmanship, she simply sat on a bench and watched them as they dribbled and dunked. Jabbar and his mates were playing against the kids. Evey was cheering the cubs, and it really did seem to motivate them. They were running around wildly, but were surprisingly accurate in their passes and throws. They were playing as a close-knit team. It was pack dynamic at its finest.

Everyone was having fun, and it was a crisp, sunny autumn day. Greyback still hadn’t returned, and the werewolves, just like Evey, were all the happier for it. Even Scabior appeared a little less tense than usual. He was almost…friendly.

Evey felt slightly guilty at the thought, but she was now fully acclimated to her environment. She was beginning to think that, if worst came to worst, and Greyback did find a way to safely get rid of her, at least she’d had pleasant last months. She’d made new friends. She’d learned new things. She’d laughed a lot. She’d run as a wild wolf under the full moon.

The sensation, the thrill of it, was impossible to put into words. Evey figured that only werewolves could ever understand it. It was…true freedom. It was peaceful and liberating and exhilarating. She couldn’t get enough of it, but she was only allowed outside the prison when Scabior was there to keep an eye on her. He was her official chaperone; Greyback had given him full control over her.

Which was why she was so desperate to befriend him, of course. He was being agreeable, most of the time, but Evey could sense his reluctance to let himself fully accept her. Greyback had left him in charge, and Evey was now his responsibility. It was like Scabior knew perfectly well that, if he allowed her to get too close, she would eventually convince him to let her go. Which was something he could do, now. His orders took precedence over everything else, when Greyback was away. That was how much the Alpha trusted him.

Still, the possibility of an escape was not Evey’s sole motive for befriending Scabior. He was a genuinely good guy, and he would make a fair, competent leader, if only Greyback could be permanently removed from the equation. Scabior would be a good friend to anyone, if he let people get close enough to try. He was loyal and (somewhat over-)protective of his packmates. Younglings and old-timers alike looked up to him. But even if Evey somehow managed to foment a true, full-fledge revolution from within the pack, there was no way that they could defeat Greyback. He was pretty much invincible, for one thing. For another, his subordinates were terrified of him. And yes, they did respect him. The fact wasn’t unfathomable to Evey, not anymore, but she still wished it weren’t so. They were good people, all of them. They were wasting their lives here, and Evey had a feeling that Greyback would eventually demand that they participate in the ongoing war, one way or another. It would ruin them.

Thinking about it made her sad, but she didn’t know what to do. She was making some progress with Scabior, but she wasn’t hopeful about her chances of escaping before the year was out. Or before Greyback returned, whichever occurred first.

Marko, one of the younger cubs, only six, had just scored a three-pointer, and everyone was cheering him, even his supposed adversaries. Evey whooped and whistled like some crazed fan, which made Marko laugh in delight.

And then all the werewolves gathered on the basketball court froze, apparently listening for something that Evey couldn't make out. Heads turned toward the main gate, and she followed their gaze. A big, muddy four-wheeler was parked just outside the entrance, and three men were getting out of it.

If they'd come this close, they must be able to see through whatever charms and wards concealed the place. Evey knew that there were some werewolves, pack members all, who lived outside of the prison and visited once in a while, but the others were watching the visitors with narrowed eyes, obviously suspicious. A few cubs even growled.

Scabior wasn't around, so Evey decided to meet the newcomers as they stepped inside the perimeter. As a captive, she couldn't be in charge in Scabior's absence, but she knew that nobody else would take the initiative.

One of the strangers, a tall, imposing man with a bushy black beard, grinned at her. "Miss Kane?"

"I'm the only woman around here, so you can't really get it wrong," Evey replied flatly. Her mind, however, was working furiously. How did he know her name? "Who are you?"

"I'm Ted,” the man said. Well, that was very...vague.

Before he could introduce his fellows – if that was his intention – Scabior marched out of the main building. "What do you think you're doing?" he barked at them. "Greyback's not here."

The tall man – Ted – shrugged his massive shoulders. "Doesn't matter, lad. We're here to get the girl." He turned to Evey again. "To rescue the damsel in distress, as it were."

Scabior moved closer to her. He was in full protective mode, muscles taut, jaw clenched, senses alert. "They're…like Fenrir," he whispered to her. Wolves? Had Greyback finally revealed her existence to them, or had they found out on their own, somehow? "That one," Scabior went on, indicating a short, pale man with greying hair, "is Demonslayer. Hernán Cortés. I've seen him here before. I don't know the other two."

Evey looked up at the large man with the black beard. "Let me guess,” she said with a smirk. “You must be Blackbeard.”

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, but it was Cortés who spoke. "How do you know this?" He seemed outraged, not only at Evey’s easy guess, but at the fact that Scabior had named him, epithet and all. Evey had been right: the Wolves were not happy that Greyback would so carelessly reveal their identities to anyone who asked.

She decided to add fuel to the fire. "Greyback told me all about you," she said. "Your names, and your little pet names for each other." It was only partially true – the Alpha hadn’t named them all – but it should undermine him for good among his own kind. If they couldn't entrust him with their secret…

Cortés muttered darkly, too low for Evey to hear. The last man had to be Miyamoto Musashi, judging by his appearance. He remained silent as he studied her impassively.

Blackbeard shook his head slowly. "Damned cub. What the hell was he thinking?" He sighed heavily. "Well, nothing we can do about it now. How about we proceed to getting you out of here, sweetheart?" he asked Evey with a bright smile. She glared at him.

"You can't do that," Scabior growled, eyes fixed on the ground. “You can’t take her. I have orders.”

Blackbeard let out a booming laugh. "And who's going to stop us, boy? You and that rabble over there?" He snorted. "You can't even look me in the eyes. How're you going to fight me?"

Scabior raised his head and stared unblinkingly into the former pirate's eyes. "It's not _your_ gaze I'm avoiding, you twat," he said fiercely.

That brought ‘Ted’ up short. He blinked, then frowned down at Evey. It was her turn to grin. "Neat trick, huh?"

"You submit yourself to a _woman_?" Cortés asked Scabior incredulously.

"In the end, don't you all?" Evey wondered idly.

That made Ted laugh again, and even Musashi allowed himself a small smile. "What in the blazes _are_ you?" Blackbeard asked. "No one said to expect _this_." He made a vague gesture encompassing all of her. "That _scent_ …"

"Yeah, speaking of that. Who sent you?" she demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"The Mother did," he replied simply.

She glanced in Scabior's direction, but he looked as confused as Evey felt. “Mother? Whose mother?”

Ted scowled. "No, _t _he__ Mother. You know, the Ancients' leader. You do know about _them_ , don't you?"

Did he mean the Bloodmother? That made no sense. Evey didn't even know the woman. Had Tony told her about Evey? Could he have gone as far as to involve the Ancients in this matter, just to find her? Or had Walden forced his hand until he made it happen? That sounded like something her fiancé would do. Was he alive, then? Had Greyback lied? She didn't dare hope, but…

"Was Walden involved in this?" Might as well ask them directly.

"Don't know anyone by that name," Ted replied indifferently. "The Mother was the one who contacted us and requested that we get you out of here. Preferably in one piece. No one else was mentioned."

"Now, if you're done with the questions, may we proceed with the extraction?" Cortés said impatiently. "We all have better things to do, I’m sure."

"I'm not quite done," Evey informed him coldly. "Where are you taking me, exactly?"

"To the rendezvous point. Stonehenge."

Of all the places…but it didn't matter. "Who will be waiting for me there?"

"The Mother, I suspect, as well as her flock." Blackbeard, for one, didn't seem in a hurry to leave. He scratched his beard. "We have an arrangement. Why so distrustful, lassie? We're trying to rescue you. Surely you _want_ to get out of there, no?"

Of course she bloody well did. "I'm just concerned as to what will happen to Scabior and the others, once Greyback realises I'm gone," she explained. It was the unaltered truth.

"How…chivalrous of you," Cortés said with a mocking grimace. "You leave Greyback to us, child. He'll get what's coming for him. His pack will be protected – although I doubt he would truly harm anyone here."

"He spent too much time assembling this little toy army to destroy it on a whim," Blackbeard concurred. He chuckled wryly. "Sounds a lot like Stockholm syndrome, if you ask me."

Evey had had the same thought, more than once, but it wasn't quite right. "Greyback is the one who abducted me, not them, and I certainly do not get along with _him_. I'm still very much intent on killing him, as a matter of fact."

She held Ted's gaze, but he just smiled. "If you can accomplish that, no one will blame you, doll. Our hands are tied, but not so yours." His two fellows nodded solemnly.

They wanted Greyback dead? What did he mean, their hands were tied? So many questions. But she had to go back to the Headquarters – provided that it was where she would end up. It could still be some sort of trap. She turned to Scabior. "Are they lying?" By all accounts, he was almost as good as Greyback at detecting lies. Ted laughed heartily, and Cortés huffed in annoyance.

"No, I think not." He hesitated. "But I have orders not to let you out. I _have_ to try and stop them, Evey. Don't you understand?" He glared at Blackbeard. Damn, she hadn't thought of that. If the werewolves were forced to fight the Wolves…it would be a carnage. Evey shuddered at the thought.

"How come you don't submit to them as you do to Greyback?" she asked him abruptly. “Or to me, for that matter.” It had been amusing to observe their reactions, but it didn't make much sense. They had to be at least as dominant as the Alpha, in all logic, and likely even more, considering the fact that they were older than he was, and more experienced. Or did that count for nothing? Evey wasn't certain. Much like mathematics, the whole dominance business still mystified her.

"They're not pack," Scabior muttered in response. Oh. Simple as that, was it?

"Alright, so you can't take orders or counter-orders from _them_." He nodded sullenly. "And we already know that I can't give you orders that contradict Greyback’s." What a pickle. She was so close to being reunited with Walden and Tony… There had to be a way.

“Greyback left you in charge, didn’t he, lad?” Musashi asked quietly. It was the first time he'd opened his mouth since their arrival. There was no trace of accent in his speech. Scabior nodded again, frowning. “Then your word is law. The pack must do as you command. You can choose to let the girl go.” He paused, glancing at the werewolves who were assembled on the basketball court. “Ultimately, whether they live or die is entirely up to you.”

“There are _children_ ,” Evey hissed. “You wouldn’t-”

Before she could register what was happening, Cortés was hauling her up and slinging her on his shoulder. Without another word, he made his way toward the gate. Clearly, he had run out of patience. Evey was too stunned to protest. She glanced back and saw Scabior gaping at them. He didn't follow. He didn't try to stop them.

Damn. She wished she could have at least said goodbye to everyone. And that she didn't have to leave in this embarrassing manner. But she was out of the prison grounds, she noticed. The Wolf laid her down near the car and opened the door for her.

"Wait, are we seriously going to _drive_ there? All the way to Stonehenge?” Gods, it would take hours!

"Unless you can fly, poppet, I believe we are," Ted replied cheerfully. He sat down in the back of the car and patted the seat beside him. Evey sat gingerly. The interior smelled of leather and cigarette. "None of us are fancy wizards. That’s just Greyback." The other two took their seats at the front, Musashi at the wheel. "And that new Ancient bloke, I guess, if his alias is any indication."

_Tony. I'm going to see him in a few hours_ , Evey thought, marvelling. And Walden as well, hopefully. He _had_ to be alive. After everything she'd been through, she couldn't imagine finally going home to find out he'd been dead all along.

The engine started loudly, and Evey realised that she was free at last. She had made it out unscathed, had survived Greyback twice now. The Alpha was going to have a fit when he realised that she was gone. Evey hoped that the Wolves were right, and that he wouldn’t punish the pack. That Scabior wouldn't pay with his life for his decision to let her go without a fight. But surely, Greyback would understand that there'd been no other realistic option. Surely he would. He wasn't _that_ crazy.

Musashi turned on the radio as he pushed the accelerator, and Led Zeppelin's _Immigrant Song_ blasted out of the speakers. At least they had good taste in music. It would make the long drive a little less tiresome.


	49. The report of my death was an exaggeration

Tony paced anxiously among the ancient standing stones of Stonehenge. The Wolves had told their peers that they would be here around two o'clock. It was almost three! Had something happened? It had been raining hard all over the country for the last couple of days. Maybe there had been an accident. That was the main reason for Tony’s dislike of automobiles – or any Muggle means of transportation, for that matter. Too dangerous, too unpredictable. He'd offered the Wolves assistance, had offered to Apparate with them, but they'd refused stubbornly. No vampire was getting anywhere near Greyback's den, they'd insisted.

Finally, just as his watch _beeped_ with the turning of the hour, Tony heard a car approach, and spotted it a moment later. It was in one piece, if extremely muddy. The driver was the first out; it was the Asian bloke Tony had seen last week during the negotiations. He was followed by the arrogant Wolf who'd been so intent on keeping Greyback's location secret.

And then the back door opened, and Evey jumped out, looking around wildly. She began running as soon as she caught sight of him, ending her course in a crash that would have knocked over any human. As it was, Tony stumbled backward slightly as he enfolded her in his arms.

Against all odds, she was alive, and apparently unhurt. A powerful wave of relief flooded him. _Thank Merlin._ Until the moment where he’d set eyes on her, Tony hadn’t truly realised how much he’d missed her, how worried he’d been about her, how terrified he was that she might be dead. He’d been so focused on keeping Walden from spiralling into manic depression that he’d never really stopped to think about how _he_ was doing.

Her heart was beating so strongly in her chest, it reverberated inside his own. She was wonderfully alive, and she very nearly made him feel alive again. "Where is he?" Evey murmured. “Where’s Walden?” Tony could detect the fear in her voice.

Of course. She didn't know yet. He'd almost forgotten about that, in his relief at seeing her and the anticipation and worry that had preceded it. "Walden’s fine," he said soothingly. "He just…he wasn't allowed to come." That wasn't strictly true, but then again, in a way, the sun really didn't allow Walden to come outside in broad daylight. Walden wasn't even aware that Evey was being rescued today, in fact. He’d been asleep when Tony had received Jeanne's message. They were communicating by text messages now, none of the others being familiar with owls or any sort of magical means of communication, and Tony had to admit that it was rather practical. The Order should learn how to use mobile phones, he thought. He would mention it to Molly. Or Arthur, preferably. He was more likely to appreciate the idea. It would take the Death Eaters a while just to understand how they were communicating, and make it that much harder for any spies they might have. Voldemort would never admit that something the Muggles had come up with might turn out to be more efficient than anything magical.

"What the hell did you get yourself into?" Evey muttered. She was still holding on to him, hugging him tightly. "I thought that the Ancients didn't involve themselves in the lives of ordinary mortals. So much for secrecy."

"Well, you're not exactly ordinary," he replied, smiling, even if she couldn’t see it. "But there's a lot you don't know," he admitted. "I'll explain later."

Evey disentangled herself from him and looked up at him sceptically. "We're going back to the Headquarters, right? I need to see Walden. I _need_ to."

He shifted uncomfortably. That wasn't the plan, strictly speaking. "We will. Um, soon."

"Tony," she said, a barely veiled threat in her voice, "if I don't get to see Walden in a matter of minutes, I don’t know exactly what I will do, but it won’t be pretty."

"You don't get to make demands, little girl," Jeanne said crisply. She was standing a few paces away from them, hands on her slender hips. "You ought to be grateful. We didn't _have_ to rescue you."

" _You_ didn't rescue me," Evey pointed out, gesturing toward the Wolves. The pirate Blackbeard waved amiably. "They did."

“Ah… V, this is Jeanne, my maker,” Tony introduced them lightly. “Jeanne, this is Evey.” They glared at each other, and Evey crossed her arms over her chest.

Oh, Merlin. Tony had expected that these two wouldn't get along – they both had strong characters, and Jeanne was annoyingly possessive of him – but this was hardly the time or place. "Um, ladies? How about we get out of here before you get into a proper catfight?"

Jeanne glowered at him, but Evey grinned mischievously, as though she couldn’t dream of anything she wanted to do more than wrestle an Ancient with her bare hands. Tony noticed that she hadn’t even glanced at the rest of the Ancients, or Wolves, to try to figure out who they were. That was saying something.

"Take us to the appointed location, then," Jeanne commanded. "We shall talk there, away from prying ears." Tony knew she meant the Wolves, but she threw Evey another dirty look, as though the fact that the werewolves were eavesdropping was somehow her fault.

"Is Walden at that location?" Evey enquired.

Tony passed a hand through his hair. "Um… Well, that is… There's something we have to do before you can–"

"If you don't take me back to the Headquarters, I will Apparate there myself, and to hell with splinching," Evey said fiercely.

That didn't sound like an empty threat. Tony glanced at Jeanne, who shook her head firmly. "No. We had an agreement, Antonin." Evey scoffed, probably at the way Jeanne pronounced his name.

"Give us just a few minutes, an hour at most," he pleaded. "Just so I can explain–"

"No!" his maker repeated loudly. "We are going to the rendezvous point, right _now_. No discussion. Keep the girl under control, for Lilith’s sake."

Evey didn't seem impressed. Then again, she'd just spent five months in Greyback's company. No doubt it had hardened her somewhat. "You're not his mother, burn you. Stop talking to him as if he were a child." She rounded on Tony. "I mean it, you know. I don't care if I lose an arm in the process. At least Wal and I will be assorted," she added with a faint, bitter chuckle.

This time Tony glanced toward the Bloodmother, who was observing their exchange with obvious curiosity. Well, everyone was, in fact. Some of the Wolves were smirking, and the bloody pirate was laughing openly. The Mother made no sign that Tony should do one thing or the other, but the other Ancients seemed to expect him to obey his maker.

He was going to have to disappoint them. Grabbing Evey's arm, he Disapparated swiftly – although not quickly enough that he didn't catch the first of a no doubt long stream of flowery curses in the refined language of Victor Hugo.

* * *

The moment Tony caught her arm, his face set in a resigned, grim expression, Evey realised that she shouldn’t have made such a scene. It was childish. What would the Ancients think of her? Gods, she’d just made a fool of herself in front of people like Dracula and the Original Vampire and Merlin knew who else. Not the best first impression.

But it had been _months_ since she’d seen Walden and, thanks to Greyback, she’d believed him dead. She’d hoped that he was alive, she’d tried to remain optimistic, but the Wolf had successfully instilled doubt in her mind. She just _had_ to see him.

"I'm sorry if I got you into even more trouble than you're already in," Evey told Tony sheepishly as they Apparated at the–

The Burrow? She frowned at the misshapen building. "Why are we here?" she asked suspiciously.

"We relocated the Headquarters," Tony explained curtly. "V, you _did_ just get me in trouble, so let's not delay, alright?" He marched toward the house, and she followed.

He knocked on the door, and talked briefly to someone inside before it opened. Mrs Weasley hugged her before she could even take a step inside. She was crying, Evey realised. She stood awkwardly, unsure what to do or say. Mrs Weasley finally allowed her to breathe again and scanned her thoroughly, taking in her man’s clothes (borrowed from a pile of abandoned items at the prison), her dishevelled hair (nothing unusual there) and her unchanged figure (her supernatural metabolism worked wonders). "Are you hurt, dear?"

“No, not at all," she assured Mrs Weasley. “I’m fine.”

It was now Nana's turn to celebrate Evey's return. The dog barked happily and bumped into her, demanding to be petted. Evey complied with a smile. She’d become huge, since Evey had last seen her. "I'm fine,” she repeated. “Where’s Walden?" She was surprised that he wasn't there to welcome her, especially with the commotion Nana was causing. The realisation only made Evey more anxious to see him. Something was decidedly off.

"Of course," Mrs Weasley said hesitantly, glancing at Tony.

"He's upstairs," he said softly. "Second floor, door on the left.”

Evey knew the one. It was Percy’s old bedroom, right next to Fred and George’s. She ran up the stairs and didn't bother knocking before barging in. The room was completely dark, so she patted the wall in a purely Muggle reflex, searching for a switch, before remembering that the Weasleys didn't have an electrical installation. She had completely forgotten that she could use magic again. She summoned a tiny ball of light from her left hand, and hoped that someone had thought to retrieve her wand from the Ministry.

Walden was lying on the bed, body rigid, white as a sheet. His chest didn’t rise and fall like that of a breathing person. Merlin! Was he in some sort of magical coma? Evey moved closer and sat down on the bed gingerly. She put a hand on his chest, then at his throat. No pulse. She was about to panic when her eyes fell on a glass half-filled with red liquid on the bedside table. Then she finally understood.

Walden was dead after all.

"I'm sorry, V," Tony murmured behind her. "I had to do it. That is, I didn't _have_ to, but–"

"Hush," she said. "It's fine. I don't care. He's alive, that's all that matters. Well, alive enough," she amended. She placed her fingers on Walden's cheek. It was cold to the touch. _Damn, he really_ looks _dead. It will take some getting used to_ , she thought with a shudder.

If he was asleep, then he wasn’t an Ancient. But Tony had clearly turned him himself, or he wouldn’t be trying to apologise – though why he would think he needed to apologise to _her_ , Evey couldn’t fathom. He’d obviously saved Walden’s life. He deserved a bloody Order of Merlin and a knighthood from the Queen, as far as Evey was concerned.

Though, granted, Walden likely wouldn’t see it that way. He’d always said that, if he were to die, Evey should teleport Tony on the moon to make sure that he couldn’t turn him. She’d jokingly acquiesced, but she’d never imagined that the situation would ever actually present itself. And worse, that she wouldn’t be there for him when it did.

All she wanted to do now was to cuddle beside Walden and wait until he woke up, but she knew she couldn't. Not yet. Sighing, she looked up at Tony. "Tell me everything."

* * *

They settled in the kitchen, with some tea for the girls. Tony looked at their steaming cups with envy. He would give decades of his life for one sip of hot tea, and centuries for one of Molly's freshly baked scones.

He shook his head, dispelling images of food and drink he would never taste again. "We moved here because…" He hesitated. “Well, because Sirius is dead, and using Grimmauld Place feels weird, now that he’s gone.”

“Sirius is dead?” Evey repeated weakly.

"He died at the Ministry. Just after you disappeared, I think. Bellatrix got him."

Evey looked upset for a moment, as if she was on the verge of tears – which would be perfectly understandable – but she recovered quickly. Yes, her time with Greyback had certainly toughened her up. Tony wasn't sure if it was a good thing. Evey inhaled sharply, then released the air slowly. Just like that, she’d regained her composure. It seemed that she’d had a lot of practice with that calming method. "And Walden? Who killed him?" Her face didn’t change, but her eyes blazed as she said the words.

Tony hesitated only a brief instant before telling her. What could she do, anyway? The man was in Azkaban. She couldn't get to him. "Rodolphus Lestrange. Killing Curse. He shot Wal in the back." He added that Rodolphus had been arrested and returned to prison, along with most of his fellow Death Eaters – those who were present at the Department of Mysteries that night, in any case. As far as Tony knew, only Bellatrix had eluded capture. Only her, but Bellatrix alone was probably deadlier than any ten Death Eaters.

"And Harry? Is he alright?"

"He's…distraught, understandably enough," Molly replied sadly. "But he wasn't harmed. Nobody else was."

"That's something, I guess," Evey muttered. "Anything else I should know?"

_The Ancients want you and Walden to have babies, as a reward for their assistance in rescuing you_. _And for not executing us._ He didn’t say that aloud, however. He wanted to avoid the topic as long as possible – preferably until Walden was awake. In truth, Tony didn’t want to be the one to tell her.

"Not much, no,” he replied casually. “What happened to _you_ , then?"

"I'm linked to Greyback," Evey announced without preamble. "We have a sort of physical connection. Those wounds I got last year?" she said, glancing at Tony. He nodded. He remembered only too well. "That was _him_ getting hurt."

He stared at her. As far as weird explications went, this one took the prize. Molly looked confused. They hadn't told her about that. It was one of the few things Walden and he had held back – more for Molly’s sake than for secrecy reasons. She would have freaked out, and Tony was in fact grateful to Evey when she continued speaking, without leaving a chance for Molly to interrogate them.

"And it works both ways. Thankfully, if I may say so," Evey went on with a sour smile. "I assume that you already know that he's a Wolf, given the team you assembled to rescue me." Tony nodded again. "Right. Last piece of news, then." She paused as if to give the revelation some weight. _What now?_ Tony thought dismally. "I can turn into a werewolf."

That was not poss–

Oh, right. They weren't supposed to use the P-word.

Tony laughed. What else could he do? Molly eyed him with some concern. "Sorry. It's nervous laughter." He briefly ruffled his hair with both hands. "I just don't get it." He frowned at Evey. "It’s been over a year since Greyback bit you, and yet you never transformed during the full moon when we lived at Sirius’s place. I mean, we used to joke about this, remember?" Because it had seemed so extravagant and _bloody impossible._

"It doesn't have to be the full moon," Evey explained. "I'm like Greyback – loath as I am to admit it. We can turn at will. I don't think he has to transform when the moon is full, either, but he does, to keep up appearances. His pack didn't know what he was until very recently." She grinned viciously.

"The Wolves won't be pleased that you revealed their secret to mere werewolves," Tony pointed out.

"They'll be even less pleased to know that it was Greyback himself who told me," she said smugly. "And that he named quite a few names as well."

Damn. They _would_ be angry, that was for sure. Was Greyback utterly mad? Or had he seriously not considered the fact that Evey may escape some day? "You've been trying to discredit him, haven't you? To his pack and to the Wolves."

Evey nodded. "Quite successfully, I believe, at least as far as the pack is concerned. He hasn't been seen since I first transformed and almost tore his throat out." Molly looked shocked to hear Evey speak like that, but she made no comment. She was uncharacteristically quiet. Well, it was a lot to process.

But the most pressing matter was that Greyback was at large. Could his fellow Wolves track him down? Tony certainly hoped so. He never wanted Evey to be captured again. "V, if there's nothing else…" He trailed off, looking at her questioningly.

She shrugged. “Isn’t that enough?”

It was too much, and Tony had many questions, especially about her ‘physical connection’ to Greyback. What the hell did that entail, exactly? But Jeanne would slap him senseless as it was. He couldn’t delay any longer. "We really should be going. They want to talk to you. The Ancients, I mean. It's…a bit of a mess." That was a euphemism.

"Can't it wait? At least until Walden's awake?" Evey pleaded.

"Molly will let him know what happened, and where to find us. He'll meet us there when he wakes up, don't worry.” Molly nodded reassuringly but remained silent.

Evey grimaced in plain annoyance, then sighed resignedly. "Fine. Let's get this over with."


	50. Hello, sweetie

Tony and Evey Apparated in front of an imposing building. A manor house, Evey realised. The Ancients must have residences all over the world. This one was situated in the midst of an immense park, and the back of the house was surrounded by woods.

She whistled softly. "Fancy."

"Glad you like it. It's partly yours, after all. Or it will be, anyway," Tony said with a grin.

She scowled at him. "Wait… Is this Walden's place?" He nodded. "But I thought it was under a Fidelius Charm." She glanced at the house again. "How can I see it? I've never had _that_ ability before." She hadn’t seen through the ward when Greyback had brought her to Asgard, not until he revealed the secret to her.

"The charm was broken," Tony explained.

_Of course_ , Evey thought. Walden had died, and the secret should have been passed on to the only other person who knew it. But Tony had died as well; the secret, with no mind of its own to realise that the two potential Keepers were still ‘alive’, had had no one to attach itself to. "So…anyone can find it. Isn't that dangerous? Why are we meeting here?"

Tony shrugged. "The Fidelius was only an extra safeguard. The Macnairs have owned the domain for centuries. There are hundreds of wards and other spells in place, some older than half of the Ancients, and others that we added after Voldemort revealed his true agenda. I've learned a thing or two when I served him." Black magic, Evey assumed. "The house is almost as well-protected as Hogwarts itself." He gestured toward the front door and they started walking in that direction. "Besides," he went on, "the others certainly have places somewhere in the UK, most of them anyway, but they weren't too keen on revealing their location. They already knew where the manor was, thanks to Jeanne, so I figured it wouldn't matter."

"But I thought Walden was the only one who could invite you in? You told me that even _you_ were not allowed inside until he said the words."

"Same problem as with the Fidelius. When Walden died, I believe that the house stopped recognising him as the owner. That right has either passed on to Caraid, by default, or it has been lost altogether, at least for the time being. Until we start living here again, I suspect."

"What about Caraid, then? Is he still here?" They had mentioned him before. Walden was quite fond of the old house elf.

"Oh, he's as good as ever. He'll outlive us all, you'll see." He frowned slightly when he realised what he'd said. "Well, some of us, at any rate," he muttered. Shaking his head, he continued. They had reached the staircase that led to the door. "We've been visiting him a lot these last few months, so I expect that it had a positive impact on him and his health. He must have felt quite lonely last year."

"You've been allowed outside?" Well, he was outside now, but Evey had assumed that it was an exceptional occasion, following her release.

"Sure. To look for you. Molly said we could, and that she'd cover for us if anyone enquired." He stopped suddenly, his pale hand on the doorknob, and gave her a sheepish look. "We _did_ look for you, you know. I didn't mean to imply that we'd spent all that time having tea parties with Caraid. Walden never relented, even after the Ancients promised to help and the Wolves agreed, too."

Evey laughed softly. "I don't doubt that for a second," she assured him. "Come on. Let's get this over with quickly, so I can return to him," she added, cocking her head toward the door.

The Ancients were all gathered in the dining room. It was a large room, tidy and decorated with old-fashioned taste. Tony explained that Walden hadn't used it in years – like most of the house, in fact. He never received any guests or visitors, so there was no point in using the long mahogany table. Caraid insisted on keeping it squeaky clean, though.

The house elf was nowhere in sight now. One of the Ancients, a pretty woman with delicate features, explained that Caraid had been told to find some occupation elsewhere while they talked. She then indicated the end of the table, where two empty chairs awaited them. Evey reluctantly took a seat beside Jeanne, who ignored her entirely but threw a murderous glare in Tony's direction. He sat next to Evey, as far from the French woman as he could get.

Across the table from Evey sat a short, handsome woman with lustrous black hair. Her midnight blue gown sparkled in the light provided by the chandelier – an electrical appliance, Evey noticed with some surprise. She hadn't expected any Muggle commodities in the ancient house, although it made sense: Walden's father had been as curious and fond of Muggle technology as Arthur Weasley was.

The woman was looking straight at her with dark, calculating eyes. Evey couldn't suppress a shudder.

It wasn't the Bloodmother who spoke, however. It was the tall man who sat three chairs away from her, on her left. He had a deep, oddly accented voice. "Miss Kane. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said with a slight bow of his shaved head. She made no reply, so he continued. "I understand that the past few months must have been…difficult for you, but this won't take long, I assure you. I'm sure you yearn for the comfort of your own home, and the presence of your beloved." She nodded at that, and held back a smile at the word _beloved_. She briefly wondered how Walden would react if she called him that. "Of course. Let us begin, then. Has Antonin explained to you the reason of this…gathering?"

"In broad terms. I understand that he is to be judged for turning Walden, who is not an Ancient. And I suppose you'll want to learn more about me," she added grimly. It was everything she’d feared since she’d found out that she was different. People looking at her like she was some strange beast, studying her from every angle and assessing her. Trying to determine if she was more human or monster. Perhaps even deciding if she deserved to live at all.

The man inclined his head in affirmation. "Given your improbable status, we have decided to make an exception and, for the moment at least, to consider you as one of us. I will introduce everyone present, as I believe it will make the proceedings less…awkward."

And he did, one by one, starting with himself. "I am Imhotep," he said, placing a hand on his chest. He was wearing a well-cut grey shirt. Then he indicated the tall, red-haired woman to his right, who sat next to Tony's maker. "This is Alice Kyteler, my progeny, and your friend Antonin's grandmother, so to speak. I believe you have already met Jeanne," he went on, pointing to the slender woman beside her. And so on until he reached the woman who sat on his left, Zenobia, former queen of the Palmyrene Empire – sometime around the 3rd century, if Evey remembered correctly. Imhotep gave her everyone's real name, not the silly nicknames she'd heard before, except for the Bloodmother and the woman who sat next to her. She was just 'The Ripper'. If Evey hadn't been so anxious to see and talk to Walden, and worried about Antonin, she would have been eager to pelt them all with a thousand questions. She doubted that they would allow it, though.

"Now that all the niceties have been dealt with, can we move on to business?" Jeanne said curtly.

Imhotep nodded. "Indeed." He turned to Evey once more, leaning forward in his chair. "What can you tell us of your family? How far back can you go along your family tree?"

Not very far, Evey guessed. They must have different standards than mortals on the matter, certainly. She couldn't even name her great-grandmother on her father's side. Imhotep was clearly disappointed, all the more when she told them that she came from an all-Muggle family. If anyone had had a smidgen of magic in them, she didn't know about it. Gorgo announced that she would research Evey's ancestors with the few clues she'd given them, before their next meeting. It was part of her 'job', apparently.

Then Alice asked her if anything else had happened during her time in Greyback's captivity, or if Tony had omitted anything in his account of her abilities. Tony glanced at her sideways, but she didn't know how to interpret the nervous gleam in his eyes. They already knew pretty much everything; what effect would the knowledge of her transformation into a werewolf have?

As she opened her mouth to reply, the door banged open.

* * *

Jeanne startled at the sound. She hadn't heard the front door open. She had been too intent on the girl and what revelations she was about to make – Jeanne had caught Antonin's apprehensive look. Was he hiding something from her? Wasn't it enough that he'd humiliated her in front of everyone, earlier? Including those damned Wolves. How _dare_ he disobey her! After everything she'd done for him, all the risks she'd taken to make sure the damned girl was returned to them!

She glanced toward the door. It was Walden, of course. Was it already so late? She glowered at him with unsuppressed irritation. He was just as rude as his brother, to barge in like that, without even knocking.

Granted, it was his home, but still.

The girl jumped to her feet and ran to him, as was to be expected. _Comme c'est mignon_ , Jeanne thought wryly. People nowadays had no notion of discretion. They were always touching each other in public, sometimes even kissing right there in the open! She allowed them a brief moment, but eventually put an end to it. "If you don't mind, we would like to resume our–"

"I _do_ mind, as it happens." Walden had raised his head at last, although the girl was still clinging to him as if afraid that he might take flight. He looked furious, now that the initial relief and joy at being reunited with his _beloved_ – Imhotep could be so _vieux jeu_ , sometimes – was slowly fading. "What the hell were you thinking?" he barked at them. "She's been gone _five_ _months_! Couldn't you give her some respite? Some time to recover? Was a day or a week to much to ask? You're immortal, burn you, what's the fucking rush?"

"We have better things to do than wait in this God-forsaken land for however long it will take her to recover," Cat retorted. "And we do not have your aptitude to travel long distances in a split second, in case you'd forgotten." She looked outraged at his sudden interruption. Most of the Ancients considered Walden a bastard – or worse – and they were embarrassed on Jeanne’s behalf, knowing that it was her progeny who had begotten him. That particular matter was far from settled, that was certain.

"We wanted to take the opportunity that we were all already in England to consult with Miss Kane," Vlad went on more calmly. "It is quite a rare occurrence that we are all gathered together in the same place, except for those planned meetings every once in a while."

"You only think about yourselves, don't you?" Walden growled. "We mere mortals are not worthy of consideration."

The girl stirred at his side. "Wal, it's fine," she murmured. "Let's just be done with this, then they'll leave us alone."

"You'd better listen to her," Jeanne told him sternly. "I don't care for your whining. Do you have any idea what you asked of us? We haven't interfered in mortal affairs in centuries, and none of our previous involvements ever included that of the Wolves! Do you realise that we allied with them for the single purpose of rescuing her? How dare you say that we–"

"Oh, what tosh!" he thundered. "You know very well _why_ you went through the trouble of finding her, and it didn't have anything to do with any concern about her well-being, or mine, or even Tony's," the infuriating man had the nerve to say. "You want to _use_ her."

"And rightly so, after your brother messed up so thoroughly," the Ripper countered angrily. "What choice do we have? If she cannot bear children–"

"I'm sorry, _what_?" the girl interrupted her, eyes wide with shock. She finally let go of Walden to cross her arms over her chest. He put his hand on her shoulder protectively. "I must have misheard that last bit."

"You fool." Jeanne glared at the couple. "I'm not denying it. Nobody here will deny it. That _is_ the only reason why we rescued her, for it is the only way we can make up for Antonin's...mistake. I believe that it was more than implied when we discussed the matter."

"I'm not a fucking breeder!" the girl lashed out. "Hell, I don't even want kids. I'm not responsible for Tony's actions, damn you." She turned to Antonin, biting her lower lip. "I'm sorry, mate, but I'm not."

"I know, love," Antonin said softly. "Don't worry. Wal and I never meant to allow that to happen."


	51. A house divided against itself cannot stand

Jeanne rounded on Tony, her good eye flashing in anger. "I beg your pardon? We had an agreement, Antonin!" He didn’t recoil at her vehemence. Good. Jeanne could be intimidating, but they had to present a united front.

Walden tightened his grip on Evey, her body so warm against his, so _alive_. He could hardly believe that she was here. He hoped that it wasn't one of those strange, almost lucid dreams he sometimes had. "You said that Evey might be able to bear children, unlike you,” he said calmly, “and you entertained the possibility that the ability might pass on to them, that they might become full Ancients themselves. Well, maybe she can, and maybe not, but I sure as hell am not going to let you find out."

"And here it comes," Darya said smugly. "I told you so, you naïve idiots. I told you they would betray us. They’re too human; they don’t think and behave like us. We need to kill them both and take the girl, find her another suitable mate, or perhaps Vlad should give it a go, we never know…"

“Don’t be absurd,” Jeanne snapped. “We’re barren. You know that. We need Walden.”

Darya shrugged. “For all we know, any vampire will do. But if you insist, we can simply kill your progeny – Lilith knows he deserves it – and keep the mongrel under mind control to force him to-”

“Darya!” Gorgo hissed. Her delicate features were set in an outraged expression. If Walden’s calculations were correct, Gorgo was Vlad’s maker, which meant that Darya was…her granddaughter, sort of. “Watch your language, young lady. And please refrain from speaking your mind without thinking and making such rash judgements. We must discuss this matter collectedly. _Together_.” Darya pouted at the reprimand, but she said nothing.

"You deceived us," Alice said. She looked genuinely shocked, and disappointed. Walden felt a twinge of guilt. He understood what it meant to them, but they should have known that no man would allow his wife-to-be to become a vampire breeder, even if he was the one who impregnated her. Evey and he had already talked about children, and he had been relieved when she said that she wanted none – although she was still young, and he'd also been afraid that she might change her mind in the future. Now that he was a vampire, though, having kids was even more out of the question, in his opinion.

In any case, they couldn't use Evey's body for their own purposes. They _should_ have seen that. They had deceived themselves.

"Ali, I'm sorry," Tony said. "And I realise it's going to make my case much worse than it already is, but you didn't seem interested in rescuing Evey for the sake of it, so…"

"So you decided to take advantage of us?" Jeanne exploded. "You are one of us, you ungrateful little–"

"I never asked for this." His voice was soft, but there was resentment in his eyes. "You asked _them_ if they minded, but _I_ never had a choice. You asked me if I wanted to get out of prison. I told you I'd rather get out of life."

Walden frowned. He'd considered suicide? Antonin? The notion seemed ridiculous. He'd always been so full of life, so optimistic. Then again, he couldn't begin to imagine what life must have been like in Azkaban for him. The few times Walden had been in contact with Dementors, the guilt and horror at what they'd done had been enough to give him nightmares for weeks. And Tony had had to live around the foul creatures for years, almost permanently, since he was locked up in the highest-security block.

He looked at his brother, but Tony was not done with Jeanne. " _You_ deceived me. You promised me a better life, eternal life, and I assumed you meant death, oblivion, or whatever awaits us beyond the veil." He gave her a bitter smile. "You never corrected me. And then you just expected me to obey you." He scowled slightly, his twisted smile fading, turning upside down. "How is this life any better than the last?" he asked, his voice louder now, his tone sharper. "Thanks to you, instead of bearing the guilt for a few decades, it will accompany me for centuries, or even longer, should I be so unlucky. It doesn't matter that I'm out of Azkaban. I never needed the Dementors as a constant reminder of what I've done." He shook his head slowly. "And now I've even more things to feel sorry about." He cocked his head toward Walden. "I did to him exactly what you did to me. Turned him without his assent. Merlin help me, I _knew_ he didn’t want it, but I still did it.” He eyed Jeanne. “You made everything so much worse for me," he went on in a whisper.

He raised a hand when Jeanne tried to speak into the brief silence. "I know you've made allowances for me. You let me find Walden and stay with him; you said I could join the Order and assist them, if I remained discreet." He ruffled his hair with both hands. "I don't _blame_ you. It's not that. I just wish you wouldn't be so fucking hypocritical about what's happening now. Whatever I am, you made me." He stared at her, unblinking. "Whatever I do, you're as much responsible for it as I am. My whole cursed life is your responsibility."

Evey was weeping, Walden realised suddenly. Silent tears were trailing slowly down her cheeks. He held her even tighter, almost to the point of crushing her, but she didn't protest.

It had never occurred to him that Tony might be depressed, or to even use that word in a sentence together with the name of his brother. The very idea would have been unconceivable, even a few minutes ago.

"If I hadn't turned Walden," Tony went on – he was clearly determined to let everything out, now that he had started, "I would have been alone, more alone than even you can imagine. Everyone I used to call a friend now hates me. The people who harbour us despise me. And if we hadn't rescued Evey, or if we'd gotten there too late, Walden would have hated me even more than the rest of them put together."

Walden was about to protest, but he was abruptly reminded of his behaviour of the last months, something he'd completely overlooked at the time. He'd been execrable toward his brother, had blamed him at every turn, blamed him for everything. He was an Ancient, how could he have allowed Greyback to capture Evey? And Tony had taken it all stoically, all the while trying to comfort Walden and doing whatever he could to find Evey at the same time. Walden felt a strong rush of guilt, and felt Evey's arms tighten around him.

"You want to punish me for turning him?" Tony demanded. "Go ahead. I deserve it. But I would do it again, I told you that before. There was never an alternative."

There was a long moment of silence. It was finally broken by the Bloodmother. "There will be no punishment for anyone," she announced.

A few Ancients seemed about to object – the same as last time, Walden noticed; Cleopatra, Catalina and the woman named Liz, whose identity he still hadn’t figured out – but one look from the Mother was enough to silence them. Darya seemed unhappy with the Mother’s final decision, but she made no comment, this time.

"We are a family, Antonin," Gorgo added. She, on the other hand, seemed quite pleased by the Mother’s judgement. " _Your_ family. You are not alone. You never will be." She turned her dark, soulful eyes toward Evey and Walden. "Your friends are a part of you, and therefore there are a part of us. There are few enough of us as it is. It would be foolish of us to turn them away, just because they are different."

"We all share the same blood," Imhotep went on, "and we have all made mistakes."

"True words, my children," the Bloodmother concurred. "As for the matter of passing on your special ability, it was never my intention to create four different lines. I wanted you all to be equals, sharing in all my power." There were a few surprised glances at that. "The truth is that I have been, for too long, imprisoned in my own personal war against Malkoran – a war he hasn't deigned to acknowledge in a long, long time. This I deeply regret, for many more of us would have been turned if I'd permitted the inclusion of common mortals. But no. I wanted the best of what the world could give, and I thought the best were only to be found in the highest spheres; that renown and glory were necessary attributes for my offspring." She locked eyes with Tony, who held her gaze without flinching. "You have proved me wrong. You, and the people you call your own." She looked at them all, eyes wandering around the room. "Malkoran humoured me for years – centuries, perhaps – but he lost interest eventually. For a long time we fought to claim the most praised rulers, the best warriors or cleverest scholars for our own. We tied for many years, and even now, our numbers are even, but I have found that Malkoran doesn't care anymore. He has abandoned his Wolves. This, Hannibal relayed to me during one of our encounters. This lack of personal involvement has allowed some of his latest…recruits to go haywire. Greyback was not the first to go bad. It was the man who turned him who made the mistake of biting him in the first place, despite his obvious instability. I know that Edward now regrets turning Grigori, but he benefited from a worldwide reputation, which made him a natural target." She paused for a moment, eyes unfocused, seemingly lost in thought. "The Wolves who gave us assistance have handled the situation as best they could. Before they organised this little trip to Wales," – Evey glanced sharply at that – "Yes, child. They have given away his den’s location at last, but to no avail. The place lies in shadows darker than the heart of Abaddon. It is inaccessible to us. Only you might find it again, should you wish to do so." Evey nodded hesitantly. _Why would she ever want to go back there?_ Walden wondered.

"As I was saying," the Mother went on, "the Wolves attempted to contact Malkoran, to impress on him the fact that Greyback was getting out of hand. He made only a vague reply, telling them that they should handle the situation as they saw fit. It seems they are now divided in two clans: those who have voted that Greyback be left alone, unchecked, and those who believe that he should be put down altogether. The first undoubtedly fear that Malkoran might decide to involve himself in everyone's business, should he deign to address the problem. The others are genuinely worried that Greyback may, wittingly or not, reveal their existence to the world."

"They can't kill him," Evey murmured.

Walden might not have heard her, but for his newly enhanced hearing. "Why not?" he asked in a puzzled voice.

Everyone was looking at them now, some of them obviously shocked that Evey had interrupted the Bloodmother. "Say what you mean, child," she demanded, apparently unperturbed.

Evey let go of Walden reluctantly and turned to face them. "Because his fate is linked to mine. If you kill him, you kill me."

"You are not making any sense," Jeanne said with some irritation.

"Because you're not _trying_ to understand," Tony retorted. "But you've apparently decided that you dislike her, so there will be no changing that." Jeanne frowned at him, but made no reply. She was obviously perturbed by what he'd said earlier.

Evey looked up at Walden. "Remember last year, when I was suddenly wounded and bleeding and we couldn't figure out why?" He nodded slowly. He was afraid he knew exactly where this was going. " _He_ was taking a beating. Well, he was letting someone beat him, anyway. Same difference, I guess." She sighed. "It works both ways. Greyback realised that when we were fighting at the Ministry, when Rabastan tortured me with the Cruciatus Curse.” Damn. Another piece of information that Walden hadn’t been aware of. His fist contracted reflexively. If he ever got his hand on Rabastan… “That's why Greyback took me away. He couldn't risk me getting hurt – or killed."

And now they had no idea where he was, or what he was doing. Fucking hell. If they'd known about this connexion between them, they would have insisted that the Wolves arrest him, and make damn sure that Greyback was safely locked away. Now they would have to find the bloody werewolf and make certain that he was captured alive, for Walden would never rest easy until he was.


	52. Love is stronger than death

Learning that Evey could turn into a werewolf was enough to convince the Ancients that, even if she'd allowed it, and provided that she could, Evey shouldn't be made to bear children. She was too contaminated by the Wolves' blood. The vampires were now certain that any child of hers would turn out to be a monster.

 _Does that mean I'm a monster, too?_ Evey wondered.

She didn't give a fig about their opinion on the matter, of course. She had already decided that she didn't want children, and nothing that had happened in the last year – not even falling in love with Walden – had changed her mind. Which was a good thing, since he didn’t want any, either. Being at odds over that specific topic would have been quite problematic, she imagined.

The Ancients had resolved not to look for Greyback themselves, but to assist the Wolves in their search for him, should they require it – should they allow it, more accurately. The werewolves were better equipped to find him, in any case. They would all be warned that no harm should come to Greyback, considering his connection to Evey, until a full meeting could be convened to decide what to do with him.

Gorgo had promised again to research Evey's ancestry; she seemed to think that it would prove useful, and that it would somehow explain why Evey was…what she was. Well, if the Queen could spare the time, she was welcome to do it. Evey was a bit curious, she had to admit.

Finally, around midnight, they were allowed to take their leave. The Ancients assured them that they would not visit the manor house if neither Walden, Tony or Evey were present. That seemed perfectly obvious to Evey, but the fact that they needed to specify it made her wonder if they would ever be alone in here, or if they would constantly be feeling like Bilbo Baggins when he suddenly found himself entertaining thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard without forewarning.

Provided that they were ever allowed to live at the manor, of course.

Walden, Tony and Evey returned to the Burrow after the Ancients who could not fly had been Apparated wherever they wanted, except for Jeanne, who had taken off on her own, on foot. She hadn't said a word since her argument with Antonin.

Mrs Weasley was still awake when they stepped into the kitchen at the Burrow. She explained that she'd thought it best to leave the news of Evey's safe return for the next morning, so Walden and she could enjoy at least one night of peace before Evey was assailed by everyone else. She was deeply grateful to Mrs Weasley for that. Walden and Evey soon bid her and Tony goodnight, and then spent a long time doing things that didn't involve any talking.

"You should get some sleep," Walden told her after a while. Evey’s head was resting on his chest, and she was tightly wrapped around him.

"Not yet,” she said, holding back a yawn. “From now on, I'll sleep in the morning and early afternoon, so I can spend my nights with you."

"You don't have to do that," he murmured. "It's very lonely at night."

"Which is precisely why I'm doing this," she replied matter-of-factly. Had he really imagined that she would keep sleeping at night, only to spend an hour or two in his company before he was forced to rest?

Walden made no reply. "What are we going to tell the others," Evey went on, "about how I finally made it back here? I assume mentioning the Ancients is out of the question." It was improbable enough that they'd allowed Mrs Weasley to be part of their…conspiracy.

"We'll just say that we sneaked out at night for weeks to look for you and were finally able to track you down to Wales and rescue you. It’s not too far from the truth, and in any case I doubt that they'll be pernickety about the details. They'll be too happy to have you back. I don't think Tony and I will be in trouble, considering that we were successful."

They were quiet for a moment, then Walden broke the silence. "Did Greyback hurt you?" he asked softly.

Evey considered her answer, but soon decided that, if there was one person she could trust with the unaltered truth, it was her fiancé. "Despite the fact that he knew it would harm _him_ , yes, he did. He knew that there was an Ancient working for the Order, and he wanted his identity, for some reason.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I resisted for a long time, longer than I thought I would, but…” She’d betrayed Tony in the end. She’d failed him.

Walden turned to face her. “Hey, it’s alright. It doesn’t matter. Greyback would have found out sooner or later. Tony won’t mind. After everything that’s already happened, I don’t think even the Ancients will be angry.”

Gods, Tony. Evey still couldn’t believe what she’d heard earlier. She’d wanted to punch Jeanne _so badly_. If Walden hadn’t been holding on to her…

Her mind suddenly backtracked, and Evey quickly revised her plan to tell the unaltered truth when she remembered exactly what had been about to happen when she’d revealed Tony’s identity, just before she’d transformed into a werewolf for the first time. There was no point in telling Walden, surely. Nothing had happened. It wasn’t relevant.

"You were gone for so long,” Walden continued, oblivious to her internal turmoil. "What happened? Were there other people with Greyback?"

"Oh, yes. A whole pack of them." Evey smiled, which was likely not something Walden had expected her to do, because he frowned. "Nice blokes, for the most part. Good thing they were there, otherwise I'm not sure how long I would have survived. Greyback and I would have probably killed each other after a week."

"Right. So you've been staying, alone, with a bunch of _nice blokes_ , for over five months." His frown was gone, his face now expressionless.

Was he serious? Damn. It hadn't even crossed her mind that he might be _jealous_ , of all things. She couldn't help a laugh. "That's adorable. Here I was, a captive to an immortal lunatic, subject to his whims, and you're worried that I might have slept with his minions?" She shook her head. Was he really worried that she’d have sex with anyone _on purpose_ , while in captivity? Remembering, again, what Greyback had almost done, Evey suddenly didn’t feel very amused by Walden’s innuendo. "What should I say? You were allowed outside every night, free to do whatever you wanted, and Tony is probably the best wing man anyone could hope for."

"I would never–" He cut off abruptly, as though finally realising how insane he sounded. _Better late than never_ , Evey thought wryly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's been…difficult."

"I know." She traced one his facial scars delicately. "It's been difficult for everyone. But we're here now. Alive." She chuckled quietly. "Ah, well, I am, anyway. I’m the odd one out, now." Abruptly, she grinned. "You know what? We should get married."

"Um…now?" Walden asked, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “I mean, I know we’re engaged, but…”

"Not this very moment, no, but soon. You already died once, and I almost did, um, several times. Who knows what's in store for us in the future?"

"Good point. We'll have to ask Molly if she doesn't mind hosting our wedding, but I don't suppose she will. She’s really fond of you, and she doesn’t seem to hate me as much as she should."

"We could do it at your place," Evey pointed out. "Tony says it's well-protected."

"It is, but we're still not supposed to be outside. Molly only allowed our nightly trips because of you, and the rest of the Order doesn’t know that she knew we were going out."

Evey sighed. "After everything we've been through, everything's that's happened…do we really have to stay here, under constant watch? Can't we just move to the manor house, live there? I don't see why we shouldn't, especially if we're getting married." She pushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes. "Wal, you literally _died_ for the Order. How could they possibly not trust you now? I think we've all made it quite clear that we're intent on destroying Voldemort and his allies."

He thought it over for a minute. "What about Tony?"

"He'd be coming with us, obviously," she said promptly. "He'd be miserable here. They tolerate him, but they will never accept him, not completely." Walden seemed relieved. "What, did you think I'd just abandon him?" She rolled her eyes in annoyance. How much did he think she'd changed, exactly? "Just because I was forced to spend some time with Greyback means I've become like him, you know. And that connection we have is purely physical. I don't share his mind."

Walden gave her an odd look. "Does it mean that you feel _everything_ he feels physically?"

Evey frowned uncertainly until she realised what he meant. "Oh gods, no, it's nothing like that. At least, I don't think so," she amended, biting her lower lip. "I don't…I mean, so far, I've never…" The places his mind wandered to, honestly. It had never even crossed Evey’s mind. "It's been almost a year and a half since he bit me. I think it's safe to assume that I would have felt something by now, if it included _that_." Her only clue was that Greyback had never mentioned feeling anything from _her_ , and Walden and she had been quite active earlier this year. Surely he would have said something about it, made some snide remark. Surely.

She huffed in frustration. There was no knowing for certain, but she had no desire to dwell on the disturbing thought. "Do you think we should look for him, too? I could go back to Wales, ask Scabior if he’s received any messages."

“No way. You’re not going back. I won't risk losing you again, V.” He paused. “Who’s Scabior?” he asked, too nonchalantly, avoiding her gaze.

Evey shot him a flat look. “My favourite lover among the pack.”

Walden mumbled something inaudible under his breath, then met her eyes again. "Do you have any idea where Greyback might be?" he asked.

"None at all," she admitted. "Even Scabior had no idea where he'd gone to, and he’s Greyback’s second-in-command. All I know is that he hasn't returned since September. The others would have told me if he’d visited, even briefly."

Walden scowled slightly. "Did you turn the pack against him, somehow?"

“I manipulated them enough that Scabior allowed me to be rescued, but not enough that he would have released me himself.” She shrugged. “I did what I could, but Greyback’s hold on them is strong. And even if they wanted to leave the pack, they couldn’t. He’d kill them. Even now…” Her throat constricted painfully. She had no idea when Greyback would return, but she was terrified of what he would do when he found out that she was gone.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Walden said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “It took him decades to assemble such a large pack; I don’t think he’d destroy them just like that.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said softly. “I also hope that the Wolves won’t do anything rash when their leader realises I’ve told everyone about them. What if he decides to have the pack slaughtered to make sure that they don’t reveal their secret?”

Walden’s eyes widened. “You did _what_?”

She smiled sheepishly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Walden groaned. “Well, what’s done is done, I guess.”

“Agreed." She moved forward to kiss him. "Let’s talk about something more positive, shall we? We have a wedding to plan.”

* * *

Jeanne sat at the bar, glaring at her pint. Lilith, how she hated English pubs. She wished she were in France. She wished she were enjoying the smell of freshly-brewed coffee at a fancy café’s terrace in Saint-Tropez. She wished she could at least _drink_ the bloody tepid ale, instead of looking at it. She hadn’t mastered that trick yet, though. To Jeanne’s knowledge, Gorgo was the only Ancient who could ingest a full glass of anything that wasn’t blood, and the Mother alone could eat solid food without being horribly sick. If Jeanne took even a sip from her pint, however, she would paint the bar crimson with blood, and most of the dirty floor as well.

To be fair, it might be an improvement of the current décor.

“Hello there,” a slurring male voice said, too close to her for comfort. “Fancy another drink, love? Something a wee bit stronger, perhaps?”

Jeanne didn’t bother to look at him. “Get lost, wanker.” She wasn’t in the mood for mincing her words.

Well, she never was.

“God, there’s no need to be such a-”

Jeanne’s head swivelled toward him. “There is no God, you imbecile,” she snapped. He took an involuntary step backward as she glowered at him. Obviously, he hadn’t noticed that her left eye was gone, because he took one good look at her face before scrambling away with his tail between his legs.

Ugh, mortals. She’d had little patience for her contemporaries, even when she was herself a mere human, but the older she got, the more difficult it was to keep her cool around them. Did they have to be so fucking stupid and disgusting and useless?

“Why not have some of this instead?” another voice offered. A metallic flask appeared in front of Jeanne’s nose. Alice took a seat beside her. “It’s good stuff. Harvested less than an hour ago.” Jeanne accepted the flask without a word and took a long swallow. It _was_ good stuff. It was hard to explain, but blood tasted different depending on a variety of parameters. Freshness was an obvious one, but also: blood type, age and general health of the donor, container (drinking at the source being ideal), temperature of the blood, season of the year and even the current lunar phase. (These last two were quite unfathomable, but they did make a difference.) And Antonin insisted that everyone’s blood tasted the same to him. He probably didn’t have a subtle palate. He had, after all, been raised in England. Scotland. Whatever. Same island.

“What are you doing here, daughter? I thought we were supposed to take the ferry together at dawn.”

Right. They’d made plans to return to Calais and get on a train to Marseille the next day. Jeanne had completely forgotten about that. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Slipped my mind.”

“You seem upset, Jeanne,” Alice noted. “I thought you’d be happier with the Mother’s judgement. Everyone lives. Isn’t that what you hoped for?” Her voice became softer. “Or is it because of what the fledgling said?”

Of course it bloody well was!

Jeanne wanted to be angry at him. She wanted to blame him for everything that had happened. But what if he was right? “Do you think I should have asked him? Really asked him, I mean, instead of speaking in riddles as I did. Should I have asked him if he wanted to become an immortal vampire?” She hesitated. “You didn’t ask me. Did Imhotep…” She trailed off. She felt silly, talking about this. Who would refuse such a boon? It had never crossed her mind that Antonin might _not_ want this. He’d been living – surviving, really – in dreadful conditions at Azkaban, surrounded by these horrible creatures, the stuff of nightmares. Jeanne hadn’t expected their strange powers to work on _her._

But did she have any right to make this sort of life-changing decision for Antonin? To decide for him that freedom and immortality, even riddled with suffocating guilt, were better than being imprisoned with it for a short time? Would he truly have preferred to die?

Did the fact that _she_ hadn’t had a choice mean no one else should have one?

Lilith, she hated doubting and second-guessing herself. Here she was, in a dingy pub on a dreary island, questioning life. At least the company was pleasant.

“None of us ever had a choice, child. That is how we do things. Gorgo marks us, then we die, and we are reborn.” Alice put a strong hand on Jeanne’s arm. “But none of us were ever permitted to return home. To find our loved ones, to tell them the truth. To be part of the world, to make a difference. Times are changing, Jeanne. For so long, we have been living in our own world, caring only about ourselves. Maybe it’s time that changed, too. Maybe the fledgling and his friends will guide us into a new era. The Mother hinted that we may try to find more recruits.”

That was all very fascinating, but it did nothing to soothe Jeanne’s feeling of remorse and uneasiness regarding Antonin’s speech. Was that truly how he felt? Or had it all been a ploy to smooth things over, to draw sympathy, to avoid punishment? He couldn’t be that good an actor, could he? He’d even made the stupid hybrid girl cry, for fuck’s sake.

“I wish I hadn’t turned him,” she said roughly. She loved him to bits, but he was proving to be a lot more trouble than she’d anticipated. “I’ve made a mess of things. I don’t _want_ things to change. I mean, seriously? The Ancients, a big, happy family?” She sniggered. “ _C’est ridicule_.”

Alice chuckled. “Ridiculous or not, it’s happening.” As Jeanne turned to her, Alice’s expression soured. “But we have more pressing issues. Greyback needs to be dealt with, and I don’t trust these brutish Wolves to do it properly.”

“Greyback is not our problem, Alice. We had to retrieve the girl, and we made it happen. We should let the incompetent beasts handle their own messes.”

Alice shook her head, her flaming red hair bouncing around her. “Things are changing,” she repeated, “and I think that will include further involvement with the Wolves, at least for a while.”

Jeanne snorted, but made no reply. What was next? Were they going to help the wizarding world defeat that would-be immortal, Lord _Voleur-de-Mort_ or whatever his stupid name was? He wasn’t even French, and he dared steal from Jeanne’s native language to make up some preposterous, nonsensical name for pseudo-evil purposes? Sometimes she wondered if she shouldn’t rip him apart for this outrage, if nothing else.

“Jeanne, I know you don’t like the little girl, but she’s important,” Alice went on. “Whether she eventually bears children or not, she might be immortal and, like it or not, that makes her one of us. Besides, Antonin obviously cares about her, enough that he risked his life to save her.”

Jeanne chose to ignore that remark about Antonin. She couldn’t fathom his interest in the girl. “Her potential immortality makes her a fucking Wolf, as far as I’m concerned,” she protested. “She can turn into one, Alice. Let _them_ have her. If I’d known that she was a bloody monster, I wouldn’t have helped rescue her in the first place.”

Alice gave her a stern look. “Regardless of what she is, we can’t allow _Greyback_ to have her. We need the Wolves on our side, as many of them as possible. What if Greyback somehow convinces them that the girl belongs to them? Do you have any idea what a war between our two races would do to the world?” An open war between Ancients and Wolves would destroy the world as they knew it, most likely. Their existence would be revealed, and that alone would shatter the lives of common mortals. Hell, they might even destroy themselves in their panic. They certainly didn’t need help massacring each other.

But so what? If it came to war, Jeanne would either kill all the Wolves, or die trying. She wasn’t afraid of death, even now.

Alice seemed to have read her thoughts, as she so often did. “Always you think of yourself,” she said chidingly, though not ungently. “Is that the world you want for Antonin, my dearest daughter?  Or do you expect him to participate in this war, too? He may be a competent wizard, but his magic skills will amount to nothing in this fight. He has our strength and speed, but he has no training whatsoever. He will be the first to die.”

Well. She hadn’t considered _that_. Jeanne would gladly give her life for Antonin, but she couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him. “We should get to work, then,” she said briskly. “Marseille and the sweet smell of _pastis_ will have to wait, I’m afraid.”


	53. Nothing you confess could make me love you less

“Can you still drink Walden’s blood, now that he’s a vampire?” a sleepy voice asked.

Tony started. He glanced toward the stairs, where Evey stood in her pyjamas, yawning, her hair even more tousled than usual. He had been daydreaming about eating one of Molly’s freshly-baked scones and hadn’t heard Evey come down. He could hear her stomach rumbling, though, now that he was paying attention. “I can’t, no. I had to…” He’d only had to do it once, but biting Molly had been a most disturbing experience. “I’m still trying to figure out a proper alternative,” he muttered gloomily.

“Well, I’m here now,” Evey said matter-of-factly as she sat across from him. “Aren’t I a proper alternative?” she added with a grin.

Drinking Evey’s blood was an even worse option. Her blood was too delicious, for one thing, and for another...well, it was _Evey_. He could never do that, for fear of losing control and accidentally draining her. “Sure. Good idea,” he said unconvincingly.

“Tony, you have to feed. I mean, all that talk about…” She hesitated, biting her lip.

“Talk about what?”

“You know. What you said to Jane yesterday. About…wanting to die and…”

“It’s Jeanne,” he corrected her reflexively.

Evey rolled her eyes. “My French is atrocious, and Wal told me I wasn’t pronouncing it right, so I’ll just call her Jane. She already hates me, so she won’t care. But you’re deflecting. Do you want to…talk about it?”

She looked uncomfortable, but she was obviously worried about him. Tony gestured her concerns away. “I’m fine,” he said good-naturedly. “I was just trying to evoke sympathy, and make Jeanne feel bad. She was being a real jerk to you and Walden.” Evey didn’t look reassured. “Seriously, V, I’m fine. It’s nothing to worry about. And as for blood, I’m not hungry, so we don’t need to think about that right now.”

She kept her eyes on him a moment longer, then glanced at the scones. “May I…?”

“Yeah, Molly said to help yourself to anything you want, whenever you woke up. She’s gone to the market to get supplies.” He didn’t say what the supplies were for. He suspected that Evey wouldn’t be too happy about it. Thankfully, she didn’t ask.

She took a hearty bite, smiling. “Gods, it’s delicious.” She shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

Tony shrugged. “How was the car ride, by the way? With the Wolves?” She hadn’t mentioned it at all the previous day, and he’d wondered about it ever since she’d returned.

Her smile widened. She said something, but it was unintelligible, her mouth being full of scone. She swallowed quickly. “It was great! Ted is fun, and Silver has amazing taste in music.”

Uh. Not at all the answer he’d expected, but alright. “Silver?” he repeated.

“His name is Miyamoto Musashi, but among the Wolves his nickname is Silverclaws, so everyone calls him Silver, apparently.”

That made sense. Tony had already forgotten the bloke’s real name. “I take it that your curiosity has been satisfied? All the Ancients have been formally introduced to you, and you even got to meet a few Wolves. Your nerdy brain must be frantic.” He smirked. “I suppose that’s what Walden and you were doing all night, discussing all these famous people.”

Evey blushed lightly, but returned his smile, her eyes glinting mischievously. “Obviously.” Her expression changed suddenly. “You know, we did get to talk a bit, actually. We’re getting married on the winter solstice.”

“We are?” he said teasingly. “You could have at least proposed to me, first.”

Evey laughed. “Fair enough.” She got down on one knee before him, and suddenly Tony didn’t know what to say. What was she doing? He felt like his heart should have stopped beating.

Evey stared into his eyes, her face entirely serious. She smoothly proffered the remaining bit of scone as though it were a treasured family heirloom. “Tony, will you be my maid of honour?” She grinned. “Oh, and Walden’s best man, too, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Merlin. What had he imagined? She was marrying _Walden_. He had to stop daydreaming. In his defence, he never got to dream anymore. He forced a smile on his face, hoping that it looked natural. “I’m happy to be both. Should I wear a suit or a dress, though?” he asked lightly.

Evey laughed again as she took her seat, popping the rest of the scone into her mouth and grabbing a second one. “You can wear whatever you want, honeybuns. I won’t judge.”

She ate her scone in silence this time, and Tony offered to make some tea, which she accepted gratefully. He was staring out the window, feeling melancholy and glad for the chance to hide his expression from Evey, when she spoke again. “Tony, there’s something I need to tell you.” She sounded serious – really serious, this time.

He turned to face her, but she was avoiding his gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asked tensely.

Evey took a deep breath. “I didn’t mention it earlier, when everyone was around, because we were trying not to get brutally murdered by our new…family, but Greyback knows that you’re the fourteenth Ancient.” She covered her face with her hands. “I told him. I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry.”

He chuckled with relief. “V, it doesn’t matter. The Ancients may insist on secrecy but, personally, I don’t care. Besides, Greyback was bound to find out sooner or later. We’re certain to run into him again someday, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I guess. But what if he told Voldemort that you’re alive, that you deserted?”

“What if he does?” Tony said with a shrug. “V, it’s alright, really. I didn’t expect to remain dead forever.” Well, technically, he would be dead forever, but she had to understand what he meant. “I doubt either Greyback or Voldemort care much about me, anyway. They have other things to worry about.” He paused. “Ah…well, though I suppose Voldemort would care, if he knew what I was. But Greyback wouldn’t be foolish enough to tell him that, right?”

Evey shook her head. “I don’t think so. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. And he despises Voldemort. I doubt he’d give him such important, dangerous information out of sheer spite.”

Tony frowned as a dreadful thought suddenly invaded his mind. “V…when you said you weren’t strong enough… Um, Greyback didn’t actually hurt you to get my name, did he?” _Please say no. Please._

She did. “No, no, of course not.”

Too hasty. Still averting her gaze. Wringing her hands over the crumbs of her scones.

Tony groaned. “You are the worst liar I’ve ever met, and I know _Walden_.” He sat down next to her, one hand on her arm. Her skin was so pleasantly warm. “I can’t believe you let him torture you just for this, just for _me_! What the hell were you thinking, V? If someone asks about me, you tell them. If someone asks about the Ancients, you tell them everything you know. Your life is more important than secrecy, love.” Evey nodded meekly. “Honestly, I feel a lot worse knowing that you were tortured than knowing you told Greyback my name.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, head bowed dejectedly.

“It’s alright. I’ll just have to make sure that you’re never captured again, so you don’t do silly things like that, yeah?” He tried for lightness, and it had the desired effect. Evey smiled hesitantly, finally looking up at him. “Now, about that wedding…”

* * *

Molly had decided to arrange a little welcome-back party for the occasion of Evey's return. It would take place that very evening, as most members of the Order would be available to attend.

She had sent an owl in the morning to Dumbledore, and another to Ginny – she didn’t trust Ronald to properly spread the news – then she had gone to Diagon Alley to inform George and Fred in person. That way, she was certain that everyone would know before lunch.

George was immensely relieved to hear the news. He'd been quite worried since June, often asking if he could do anything to help and even trying to follow several members of the Order as they went on missions, most of which had nothing to do with Evey. He was disappointed to learn that the girl was asleep when he arrived at the Burrow around noon, but Molly explained that she probably wanted to adjust to Walden's sleep pattern, as was to be expected. George went back to Diagon Alley but promised to be back in the evening.

Evey was already awake when Molly returned from the market. Walden shouldn't be long, she estimated. The days were short enough now that he could join them for supper – breakfast, to him. Everyone else was still at work, so Evey offered to help with the meal, when they had finished their tea. Antonin hovered around for a while, until Molly told him to either find something useful to do or somewhere else to be. He reluctantly shuffled to the living room, though she caught him checking in on Evey every few minutes.

Arthur came home early that day, for the first time in weeks, and he was accompanied by Bill and Fleur. Walden was up by then, and supper was almost ready. Tonks arrived half an hour later, soon followed by Remus, then Fred and George. Kingsley had excused himself, and Alastor didn't know the girl. Dumbledore had expressed his relief at learning that Evey had returned, but had politely declined Molly’s invitation. Lately, she felt that he was avoiding the Burrow, though she had no idea why.

The dog, Nana – she was growing fast, and was already larger than Molly had ever anticipated – was delighted to see so many people at once and kept running happily around the kitchen. She always returned to Evey after a few minutes, though, as if to make sure that the girl was still there and didn't require protection.

George had wanted to sit at Evey's side, but she was constantly flanked by Walden and Antonin. Her son kept stealing glances at her, as if he couldn't quite believe she was there, and in one piece. No one could quite believe that she’d returned unharmed after being Greyback’s captive for so long, but of course, they didn’t know the whole story. Molly had promised Antonin not to reveal anything unless it directly threatened someone’s life or pertained to Voldemort.

Evey was clearly uncomfortable, weary of all the attention she was receiving, and never left either Walden or Antonin for more than a few minutes. Not that they looked ready to leave her side.

After supper, they all sat down in the living room for tea, and some dessert, of course. Molly had made Evey’s favourite: lemon and meringue pie.

Everyone was quiet as they enjoyed the dessert, until Tonks suddenly spoke into the silence, her voice wavering. "Evey, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "We did what we could, I swear, but Greyback was impossible to find. I tried everything, spoke to every source that the Aurors know of. Moody and Kingsley contacted every person they've ever worked with, to try to find some clue, anything."

"I interrogated every werewolf I've ever known," Remus added, "and many I'd never met before. Most were clueless, and those who seemed to know something were unable to speak. There must be some spell that prevents anyone who doesn't have express permission to give away information."

"Spells, wards, charms of all sorts… Black magic for the most part," Evey confirmed. "The place is invisible to all but his pack." She gave Tonks a reassuring smile. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it. I know you did everything you could."

"It's a miracle that you are even alive," Remus said gravely. "I know Greyback likes to play with his victims, but to keep you alive for months…" He was frowning. "Did he say why he took you? Does it have anything to do with…what happened last year?"

Antonin had witnessed, through Legilimency, exactly what had happened the night Evey’s family was murdered. He’d seen Greyback attack her, even bite her. When Evey had joined them at the Grimmauld Place last year, Dumbledore had merely informed them that her parents and brother had been killed in the attack, but he hadn’t mentioned Evey being harmed at all. Perhaps he hadn’t found a satisfying explanation, or perhaps he’d known exactly how and why and refused to say, for whatever reason. The Headmaster did that quite a lot, Molly had come to realise over the years.

But the rest of the Order, as far as Molly knew, was not aware of this. Though it was quite possible that Molly alone had not been kept in the loop.

That also happened, too frequently for her taste.

In any case, Remus wasn’t supposed to know that Evey had already survived Greyback once, and that it was likely the reason why the werewolf had abducted her. That, and their unnatural…connection, which Evey had mentioned the previous day.

Merlin, the poor girl. As if she hadn’t been through enough ordeals already.

"I suppose he must have remembered me from last year," Evey said slowly, biting her lower lip and avoiding everyone’s inquisitive gazes. Antonin was right; she wasn’t a very good liar. "He didn't tell me much, though. He wasn't there most of the time, in truth. Really, I don't know why he bothered abducting me at all." She shrugged for good measure.

Remus was still scowling, as if he could hear the lies in her words, but Tonks smiled weakly. "We're just so glad that you're back, and in one piece at that." She cocked her head in Walden's direction. "You're lucky to have him," she murmured softly to Evey. “Molly told us that he sneaked out to find you, and never relented.” Remus glanced at her briefly, cheeks reddening. _Stubborn man_ , Molly thought ruefully. Evey and Walden were proof that age difference didn't matter, no more than someone's background or even the fact that one was more than merely human.

Walden looked at Tonks. Molly kept forgetting that his hearing was much keener now than it used to be. "Tony did most of the work, actually," he said quietly. "I wasn't even awake when Evey returned." That said with a hint of reproach, though he shot his brother a grateful smile.

Tonks met Antonin's eyes. She had never trusted him, Molly knew. Most of them didn't. She wasn’t sure if _she_ did. "Well, whatever you did, it was more than any of us could achieve. Thank you for getting her back."

"You don't have to thank me. I didn't do it for you," Antonin replied curtly.

"How did you find her?" Remus demanded, eyes brimming with suspicion.

"I made use of my tantalising charisma," Antonin replied with a disarming smile that revealed his sharp canines. Molly rolled her eyes. He would never change. Sarcasm certainly wouldn’t make Remus any less distrustful.

The werewolf grimaced. "If it turns out that you knew where she was from the beginning…" he said in a threatening tone.

"Don't be a bloody fool," Evey spoke up sharply. And quite loudly, for everyone stared at her in surprise. She held herself upright. "I'm tired of everyone accusing Tony of being Voldemort's spy, or whatever you think he is. What will it take for you to trust him? You have no idea of the sacrifices he made to save me. And I have no intention of letting you know, because it's none of your fucking business. You don’t _deserve_ to know." She rose to her feet, Walden shadowing her an instant later with a look of concern on his pale face. "If you won't trust him – trust _them_ – then I don't see why we should trust you with our secrets." She turned to Molly, and her eyes softened. "Mrs Weasley, I appreciate the gesture, but I should tell you I hate parties, especially when they're all about me. I need some air," she added as she made her way toward the back door, Walden and Nana on her heels. After a brief hesitation and an apologetic look directed at Molly, Antonin followed them outside.

* * *

"Weren't we supposed to take the opportunity of this gathering to invite everyone to our wedding?" Walden asked when they were outside. Evey sat on an old swing that must have been there since Bill was a toddler, Nana lying at her feet, eyes alert and scanning the darkness around them. Tony was leaning against the shed, looking up at the night sky. There were no clouds, and the stars shone brightly. The moon was almost full.

"Perhaps we should opt for a private ceremony. Just the three of us," Evey muttered moodily.

The 'party' had been a bad idea. Tony had tried to tell that to Molly, when Walden and Evey were still asleep, but she wouldn't heed his advice. The others had a right to see her, she’d insisted. He'd explained that they were perfectly welcome to visit Evey, but to make a party about her, to make her the centre of attention…that was a bad idea.

"Caraid will be heartbroken if you don't invite him," Tony pointed out. "After all these years despairing of ever marrying Walden off."

"Alright, the four of us, then," she amended, smiling at last. _That's better_ , Tony thought. He hated to see her upset, now more than ever.

"It's all the same to me," Walden said. He frowned suddenly. "Aren't you cold?” he asked Evey. “I don't feel it, but we're in November…" She was wearing a simple blouse, Tony realised. She must be freezing.

Evey shrugged absently. "I’m fine. I don't really feel hot or cold anymore. I think my body just adjusts to the temperature."

"A year ago, I would have found that incredible, but considering the latest developments…" Tony said with a grin.

She returned it. "I wonder what's next," she speculated. "Perhaps I'll turn into a bat."

"As long as you don't start craving live human flesh, I think we can handle pretty much anything," Walden said with a laugh.

"What if I crave dead human flesh?" she countered playfully.

"Well, it's easier to come by," Tony said. "You could eat me, and I’d regenerate immediately. Endless food supply," he added crookedly.

"Gross," Walden grumbled. "I just ate, mate."

"Weakling," Tony whispered. His brother glared at him. "Anyway. That doesn't settle the matter of the wedding." They both scowled at him. "If you really intend to do it on the winter solstice, we’d better start planning, dearies. There's barely a month left." They wanted to do it on that date simply because it was the shortest day of the year – meaning the longest night, and that they would therefore have more time to spend together. "Seriously, you're going to invite other people, right? It's not really a wedding if there are no smartly-dressed guests, no glorious feast, no intoxicated uncle rolling under the table…"

"What little family I have left thinks I'm dead," Evey reminded him, "and in any case, they belong to the past. You're my family now, like it or not."

"I think Remus can play the part of the drunken uncle just fine. And Molly can be the fussy lady who keeps rearranging your hair and your dress. The twins will provide ambiance, I'm sure, and hopefully they'll bring some of their products as a wedding gift. Fleur can be your maid of honour, and as the best man, it will be my duty to…um…make sure she has a good time." He was picturing it all quite clearly, as he often had before Evey was captured: they would set firefly lanterns all over the garden – which would be enclosed in a warming ward, of course, if they insisted on a winter wedding; there would be enough food to feed everyone at Hogwarts for a year, and enough to drink to rival a Russian wedding; there would be music, everyone would dance, and–

Evey pulled him out of his reverie with a sly smile. "I doubt Bill will allow you to show Fleur a good time. Or that _she_ will allow it, for that matter."

Tony snorted. "Bill will be too drunk to care. And how dare you doubt my ability to conquer Fleur’s heart?” He didn't give a fig about Fleur, but the comment made Evey laugh, and _that_ was what mattered.

“But I want _you_ to be my maid of honour!” Evey complained. “I barely know Fleur.”

"I’ll be your _man_ of honour if you agree to invite everyone, just like you promised earlier,” Tony said.

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. We'll invite them all. Just not right now. I‘m not in the mood."

"Of course not right now," Tony scoffed. "You have to make proper invitations. RSVPs. I think ivory or cream for the envelopes, and maybe gold for the parchment… Or the other way round? They'll have to be handwritten, obviously, with glittery, enchanted ink..."

He was talking to himself, he realised when Evey laughed again. "We'll leave it all to you, then. Just don't forget to invite _us_ , alright?" Walden chuckled softly, and Nana barked in unison, as though to remind Tony that she ought to be on the guest list, as well.


	54. Be our guest

"Let's recap,” Tony said, massaging his temples as he perused the guest list. “All members of the Order. McGonagall and Hagrid from Hogwarts, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione.”

"Right. And, um…I was wondering. Do you think we could invite some of the Ancients without inviting them all?" Evey asked, chewing on her lip. "I mean, after that ‘ _we're a family’_ speech, I'm afraid it would be rude, and potentially dangerous."

Tony smirked. "It’s just Jeanne you don’t want to invite, right?"

Evey flushed. “Well, she clearly doesn't like me, which makes it hard for me to like _her_.” There was also the fact that Jeanne seemed to have a crush on her husband-to-be, though Evey didn’t say that aloud. It wasn’t that she was jealous, but it certainly made her uncomfortable. “But she's welcome, if you want her to be there,” she forced herself to say. “I mean, she’s your maker. It would be like…not inviting your mother to our wedding."

"I don't want Jeanne to be there," Tony replied curtly. “Don’t worry about it. Your wedding, your guests.”

Evey felt a wave of relief. "Alright, then. Also…inviting the Bloodmother seems a bit weird, doesn’t it? I can't decide how I feel about her… Fascinated, terrified, intimidated?" The Mother Of All Vampires may look human, but she was anything but, in Evey’s opinion. She was very nearly a divine being. Or a demonic one. Or both. It was honestly difficult to say.

"I know the feeling. But I think it'd be best to invite her, just to be on the safe side… I doubt she'll come, anyway. She doesn't really mingle."

Evey nodded, glancing at Walden. He was sprawled on the couch, reading a history book on Ancient Greece, while Nana slept by the fire. Her fiancé didn't seem particularly interested to know who would attend their wedding. "Tony…do you have any way of contacting Ted and Silver?" Maybe this would pique Walden’s interest.

Tony frowned. "The…Wolves?"

"Yes, Blackbeard and Musashi."

Walden did look up at that. "Why would you want to invite _Wolves_ to our wedding? I mean, you barely know them."

"I spent five hours in a car with them," Evey countered. "I know them better than the Ancients."

Walden sat up on the couch, the book forgotten in his hand. "They _drove_ you from Greyback's place all the way to Stonehenge?" He glared at Tony, then at Evey. "You never mentioned that. Neither of you bothered to mention that."

Really? It had never come up? Well, it hadn’t been an intentional omission. There’d been a lot to catch up on, and this felt like an insignificant detail compared to things like Sirius’s death or Evey’s transformation. "Hey," Evey said with a placating gesture, "so what? They're alright, Wal. They’re nothing like Greyback." She sat down beside her fiancé. "They rescued me. They should be there. And they're fun, you'll see." She didn’t include Cortés on the guest list. Not that she didn’t like him, but he was…not a people person, to say the least. He’d likely refuse the invitation, in any case.

Walden hesitated a moment. "Fine. As you wish. It's all the same to me." He'd been saying that often in the past few days.

"I have a phone number," Tony said uncertainly. "It belongs to one of the Wolves, but I don’t know which one. We exchanged a couple of texts while we were planning your rescue."

"Give me the phone," Evey said. “I’ll call them.”

Tony patted his pockets, realised the phone wasn't there and went upstairs to look for it. He was back a moment later. He glanced at Walden, as though waiting for permission, but Wal had returned his attention to his book, or at least he affected to.

"I have no idea how to find the number," Tony admitted.

Evey smiled, extending her hand. "I do." She looked up the contact list, but found only Jeanne's name and number. Going back to the text messages, she found the one she was looking for and called the number.

"You're calling them _now_?" Tony asked, one hand reflexively going through his hair.

"Well, yes. The wedding's in three weeks, and I don't even know if they're still in the UK." They should be – they rented a flat together in London, Evey knew – but there was no sense in delaying.

It rang only twice before someone picked up the call. " _Aye_ ," the voice said cheerfully.

The best thing about Blackbeard was that he loved to humour every single pirate cliché. During the car drive, he'd sung the entire theme song from the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction at Disneyland, then had produced a bottle of rum from the boot and drunk half of it. According to him, Wolves couldn’t get intoxicated, thanks to their extraordinary metabolism. “Hi Ted, it's Evey." Walden frowned at her. That must have sounded very familiar, she realised. Oh well. After his insane jealousy crisis of the previous week, she certainly wasn’t about to cut him any slack.

"Fancy coming to my wedding on the 21st?" she went on without preamble. “The two of you, I mean.”

" _A wedding! I love weddings. Wait, the 21 st…of December? This year?”_

Evey chuckled lightly. “Yes.”

_“Uh…where will it be? 'cause we can't travel to the end of the world with a snap of our fingers, lass_."

"Scotland, in the Highlands."

" _Oh, good. I thought you were going to send us to Peru or something_. _I’m not allowed in Peru._ " She heard him talk to someone in the background. " _Silver consents to come as well_ ," Ted informed her.

"Perfect. Hey, can you bring some music, maybe?" If they were stuck with what they had at their disposal, it would have to be either Celestina Warbeck’s entire collection, or whatever Walden had at the manor, which was exclusively classical music, according to Tony. Not that Evey minded a bit of classical music, but…well, it was a wedding. There would be a party afterward. People might want to dance.

" _Sure thing, doll. Silver will DJ for you_ ," Ted replied with a hearty laugh.

"Thanks, that's great. I'll text you the details when...um, when we have them. Ta-ta!" Evey ended the call and returned Tony's phone. Walden and he were both staring at her now, but she ignored them. "That's two confirmed guests already, and you can count them in for the buffet. What about the Ancients? Do you know how to contact them?"

Tony cleared his throat. "I do. I'll take care of that. Don't worry about anything else, now. I've got this," he told her with a confident smile.

"Can I choose my dress, though? Or will you try it on for me?" she asked him wryly.

"I will allow that," he said magnanimously. "I'm sure Molly would love to go shopping with you. Or Tonks. Or both," he added with a shrug.

"As long as Fleur doesn't tag along, I'm good."

Tony tisked. "Aw, come on, she's not that bad."

Of course he’d say that; he had a massive crush on Fleur. "I never said she was,” Evey said defensively. “But I would keep comparing myself to her, it would be a disaster."

Both men rolled their eyes at the same time. "Merlin help me," Walden muttered. "How many times do I have to tell you–"

"I know, I know. Just kidding." Well, not really, in truth. The French woman was annoyingly beautiful, and it was difficult not to feel like a potato when she was in the same room. It certainly did nothing for Evey’s self-confidence. Fleur wasn't staying at the Burrow at the moment, but she was here every other day all the same. Evey couldn't wait to move to the manor house.

The men wouldn't understand, however, so she thought it best to change the subject. "Who will perform the ceremony? It doesn't have to be a Ministry official, I hope?" They couldn't be certain of anyone outside of the Order. They’d already planned to cast a new Fidelius Charm on the house as soon as the wedding was over, so that no one – except the Ancients and Wolves; there was no avoiding that – would be able to find it. Evey would be the Secret Keeper.

"Dumbledore said he would. He's official enough, I guess," Tony replied casually.

Evey stared at him in surprise. "Dumbledore? You talked to him?"

Tony nodded. "He came by two days ago, while you two lovebirds were sleeping. I caught him alone for a moment. He sounded delighted."

"Did he give any news? Or did you overhear anything interesting?" Evey asked. “About Voldemort, I mean.”

"He cast a spell against eavesdropping," Tony grumbled. "And Molly wouldn't say anything."

"As usual." Evey's outburst during the party the week before had done nothing to allay suspicion on the former Death Eaters, apparently. Mentioning that they were keeping secrets from the Order might not have been the best idea, but she’d been too angry to care about what she was saying, at the time.

They would have to deal with this inconvenience after the wedding.

* * *

Tony coughed lightly. He always tried to make some noise, as he was aware that few people could hear him approach. Molly turned to glance at him, but soon directed her attention back to the pile of laundry that she was folding.

"Need help with that?" he asked her, knowing that she would refuse. He always offered to help with the chores, but she never let him, as if she was afraid he would contaminate the dishes or clothes.

As expected, she shook her head. "I'm almost done." The pile was almost as tall as she was, but he didn't bother to remark on it.

"Molly, if you…well, that is, when you have a moment, could you take a look at this?" He laid an envelope on the table next to the pile of neatly folded clothes.

She frowned at it. "What is it?" When Tony didn't answer, she dropped the shirt she was holding and picked up the envelope with unfeigned curiosity. He had written her name on it. It had been years since he'd held a quill in his hands and written anything, and his first letters had had an unsteady look. He'd filled an entire page, repeating his name over and over, before he was satisfied with what he saw. She took out the paper inside – he'd settled for gold.

Molly's eyes wandered over the words for barely a second before she looked up at him. "They're getting married!"

Tony nodded, smiling.

"But there must be a mistake. You wrote December 1996."

"That's right."

"But that's two weeks from now! How are they going to–"

"It's already well underway,” he interrupted her smoothly. “I just wanted your opinion before sending out the invitations. Everything else is taken care of – the Hogwarts house elves will adapt the buffet as we receive confirmations. There are just a few things I was hoping you might help me with," he went on sheepishly, although he knew she would do it for Evey, if not for him.

"Of course." She was smiling now. "What is it?"

"Evey needs a dress. I figured you would be more help than me in that regard…"

"Indeed. Oh, but I wish you'd let me know sooner! How are we going to find a proper dress in _two weeks_?"

"Walden said we shouldn't worry about expenses, so if Madam Malkin requires a little incentive to speed her along with the alterations…"

"I see. Do you have the rings? I assume you'll be the best man." It wasn't really a question. Well, who else could it be?

Tony nodded briefly. "Everything else is in order. I just need one more thing, but that's actually from Arthur."

"Arthur?" Molly repeated with a frown.

"Evey will need someone to walk her down the aisle," he said softly. "And I'll be waiting with Walden, so it can't be me. We were hoping that…"

"He will be thrilled, I'm sure." She seemed about to cry, for some reason. She turned her back to him for a minute, taking her handkerchief out of her sleeve. He heard her sniffle. Why were women always so emotional? And if she was already crying now, what would it be like during the ceremony?

Molly tucked the cloth back inside her sleeve and gave herself a shake before facing him again. "What about the wedding cake?”

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," he said dismissively. Dumbledore had offered to have the elves at Hogwarts handle the buffet and the cake, and Tony knew from experience that it would be a masterpiece. He'd requested a _pièce montée_ from them once, on his 16th birthday. They had been quite happy to oblige – he'd been sneaking into the kitchens of Hogwarts since his very first month at the school and knew them all by name. They were friendlier than most of the other students. Walden had been outraged, but he'd eaten quite a bit of the cake all the same.

"Hmm. Anything else?" Molly asked. He pointed to the invitation. "Oh, yes." She studied it attentively, and Tony prayed that he hadn’t made any spelling error. That would be incredibly embarrassing. "It's good. Quite good indeed. Nice colour scheme."

"Thank you."

"I see that they intend to do it at Walden’s place,” Molly said with a hint of reproach. Tony hoped that she would understand: they all knew that she was perfectly capable of hosting a wedding. They simply wanted to be home.

“Yes. And they will move in – _we_ will move in – after the wedding.” She opened her mouth to protest, but Tony continued. “I’ve already talked to Dumbledore. He gave his consent.” He’d expected that Dumbledore would have told Molly by now, but from the way her lips tightened, Tony guessed that he hadn’t.

“Who will be there?"

Ah. Now this was going to be tricky. Would Molly allow her children to come, knowing that some Ancients and Wolves would be there? "There won’t be that many guests – the Order, some people from Hogwarts, you and the kids, of course," Tony said. "They'll be back by then, right?"

Molly turned to the calendar. "It's a Saturday – they'll be on the train all day," she said with a frown.

"Well, the wedding will take place in the evening, after dark.”

She chuckled. "Of course, silly me. I'd almost forgotten. It’s better if the groom is not asleep for the ceremony."

"Evey also wanted to invite some of the Ancients, two Wolves," he went on rapidly, hoping she would let it slide, "and the barkeeper from the Hog's Head who helped her last year after Greyback attacked her. I don't even know his name, though," he admitted. Walden and he had often visited the Hog’s Head when they were students, but the owner wasn’t exactly the expansive sort, unlike Madam Rosmerta.

"He's Albus's brother, Aberforth Dumbledore."

Tony's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?” He hadn’t seen _that_ coming. “Merlin, I had no idea. I didn't even know he had a brother." Come to think of it...he didn’t know much about Albus Dumbledore at all, save for his most notable exploits, which everyone in the wizarding world knew about.

Molly wasn’t fooled by his weak attempt at distraction, however. "But the Ancients? And _Wolves_?" She said the word as one might say _Dementors_ , which was decidedly not a compliment.

"They all helped rescue Evey," Tony pointed out. "And it seems that she befriended two of the Wolves who brought her back." Molly didn't look convinced. "They've already been invited," he went on with a fatalistic shrug. "I didn't have their address, only a phone number, and Evey called them."

"Owls don't need addresses," Molly said.                  

"They're not wizards," he explained patiently. "They're not familiar with our means of communication. I’ve encountered the same problem with the Ancients."

Molly sighed. "Well, it's their wedding. I suppose they can invite whomever they want." That was exactly what Evey had said. "I hope the weather will be pleasant, at least."

If the weather refused to cooperate, Tony would enclose the garden in a rain- and snowproof ward. Everything would be perfect. Evey and Walden deserved the very best.


	55. In my defence, I was left unsupervised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Hey, sorry it took me a whole week to update. Also, this chapter is a bit longer than usual; I hope that's okay.

“I hate pubs. Did I mention this before?” Jeanne grumbled. She blew some foam off her ale, and it landed on the grimy counter.

Alice would have chuckled, if her progeny hadn’t already made the same remark a hundred times. It was slowly getting on her nerves, and it didn’t help that the Wolves were late. She was beginning to think that the werewolves were going to stand them up. Would they truly dare?

Or had Jeanne and Alice gotten the wrong place? It seemed unlikely. There couldn’t be that many pubs called _The Blood Moon_. “Why do you always order a cheap ale?"

" _Precisely_ because it's cheap. If I'm not going to be able to enjoy whatever I order, I don't want to spend good money on it." Dear Jeanne. As if money were ever a concern to her. Alice had never known anyone so stingy.

She looked at her glass of whisky with terrible yearning. "At least I can benefit from the smell of it.” Ye gods, how she missed drinking whisky. Particularly at this very moment.

They shouldn’t be having secret meetings with the Wolves. They shouldn’t be going behind the Mother’s back. But the others didn’t seem to realise that taking down Greyback should be their priority, and Alice had a feeling that the Wolves were not making it a priority, either.

The front door opened, hinges creaking ominously, and Alice recognised the newcomer’s voice right away. “…they’re going to suck us dry, mark my words. I told you that we should have taken the Tube!” It was the pirate - well, former pirate, Alice assumed, though she had no clue what his current occupation might be.

_About time_ , Alice thought _._ The Wolves’ tardiness did nothing to improve their already poor reputation among the Ancients.

Jeanne had heard him, too, and she was glowering in his direction. No one could quite pull off a one-eyed glare like Jeanne. “ _Mieux vaut tard que jamais, putain_.”

Alice translated automatically. Her own French was passable at best, but she understood most of what Jeanne said, when she didn’t speak too fast. _Better late than never._ Plus another term that wasn’t strictly necessary. She gave Jeanne a chiding look. “Watch your language.”

Jeanne snorted. “Sorry, _mum_.”

Alice was of the opinion that swearing should be used with parsimony, when the situation truly demanded it. Not with every other sentence, as Jeanne tended to do.

The man who'd spoken – Edward Teach, Blackbeard, or, as he’d repeated many times during their initial phone conversation, Ted, though Alice was loath to demonstrate such inappropriate familiarity with a Wolf – made his way toward them, his gait confident, a broad grin on his bearded face. The man behind him, tall and slender, was utterly expressionless.

Miyamoto Musashi. He didn’t look like much, dressed as a modern mortal, with a white t-shirt and washed-out jeans, but Alice would do well to remember who he was. There was an air of danger, of supernatural alertness, radiating from him. She imagined that his nickname, Silverclaws, was not simply meant to reference the blades he used to wield. Or perhaps still wielded, for all Alice knew.

“Ladies!” Blackbeard exclaimed jovially. “You’re already here.”

“We’ve been here for over an hour, you twat,” Jeanne snapped.

“Aw, sorry about that,” he said, still smiling. “In my defence...well, it’s all Silver’s fault. Fool insisted on taking a cab. At rush hour. Honestly.” The designated perpetrator made no comment. His face didn’t change. Blackbeard cleared his throat. “Anyway. Can I buy you another drink to make up for…” He trailed off as Jeanne made an obvious effort not to strangle him. “Uh…yeah, maybe not.” He turned to the bartender. “A Guinness and some herbal tea here, mate.” He sat down on a stool beside Alice. Musashi didn’t move. He appeared to be studying the TV screen on the other side of the room, but Alice was certain that he was scanning the room for a potential trap. Unless he was genuinely interested in the soccer game. He was a man, after all.

Alice collected her thoughts. “Thank you for coming. As mentioned on the phone, I hope that this informal meeting shall remain between us.”

“Sure, lass," Blackbeard said. "Fear not. Not like we have much contact with the others, anyway.”

Interesting. The Wolves were still at odds with one another. “Has Malkoran finally deigned to make his opinion known, regarding the Greyback situation?”

Blackbeard shrugged. “His opinion on this matter is the same as on any other matter: he doesn’t care. He’s retired, or so he claims. He leaves all the official dealings and decision-making to Bill, Hannibal and Ramesses. The Holy Trinity,” he added with a faint sneer. Musashi said something in a low voice, but Alice didn’t catch any of it, because he spoke in Japanese. Being immortal, Alice had no excuse not to be fluent in several languages, but…well, she simply wasn’t good at it. She’d learned notions of French mainly to understand what Jeanne said, because the girl used her mother tongue whenever she was angry or annoyed, and that was most of the time. But aside from her native Gaelic and commonplace English, Alice had not progressed much in the language area, unlike most of her peers. As a result, her Japanese was all but inexistent.

Not so Jeanne’s. She spoke with a heavy French accent no matter the language she used, but she spoke them regardless and, most importantly, she understood them. “We’re not likely to repeat any of it to Malkoran. We don’t even know where he is.” Not for lack of trying to figure it out, Alice knew. Jeanne liked to be prepared, and she liked to know exactly who she was dealing with. “Look, we don’t care who’s in charge of your little pack. We want to know that _someone_ is doing _something_ to find Greyback. He needs to be restrained. He’s obviously out of control, and apparently he’s not shy about exposing us to anyone who asks. If he reveals our existence to that Voldemort fellow-”

Blackbeard laughed aloud. “Is _that_ what you’re worried about? That crackpot old wizard? Please. I’ve eaten tougher villains for breakfast. Do you want me to get rid of him? It’s against our rules, but if it allows us to forget all about this sorry situation and go back to our lives…”

“If we wanted to get rid of Voldemort, we could do it ourselves,” Jeanne said angrily. She shot a baleful glare at the bartender as he brought Blackbeard’s order, and he quickly shuffled away after depositing the drinks on the counter.

Jeanne was bluffing, Alice knew. The “crackpot old wizard” was more dangerous than the Wolf realised. If he weren’t, he would have stayed dead the first time he was killed, wouldn’t he? There was something off about the whole thing. It reeked of black magic, but Alice, despite her moniker, knew little about magic. She knew her herbs, but there was nothing magical about that. It was simple herbalism – a mundane branch of healing that anyone could learn.

“So you _don’t_ want to get rid of him?” the Wolf asked, one bushy eyebrow raised quizzically. “Despite the fact that he threatens your kid’s…family, including Evey? Possibly the wizarding world at large?”

_Evey?_ Alice scowled. Was she a first-name acquaintance already? They’d only spent a few hours together, and Evey had not mentioned befriending any of her rescuers.

“Speaking of the girl,” Blackbeard went on before either of them had a chance to reply, “are you also going to the wedding? I figured we could carpool or something. I mean, you can’t fly, right? You’re not that sort, uh?”

Jeanne was staring at him. “What wedding?” Alice could have slapped the Wolf.

He hesitated, his grin faltering for the first time since he’d entered the pub, looking like he’d just asked a fat-bellied woman if she was pregnant. “Er…”

“ _Baka_ ,” Musashi murmured.

This, Alice understood. And she quite agreed with the statement. “Evey and Walden’s wedding,” she said wearily. Jeanne frowned at her questioningly. “I received the invitation two days ago. I’m sorry, Jeanne. I already told them that I wouldn’t be attending.” The nerve of the fledgling, not to invite his own maker, while everyone else was invited. Including two Wolves, apparently.

The hurt look in her eye was quickly concealed as Jeanne returned her attention to the Wolves. “Does this look like a carpool-arrangement meeting?” she hissed at them. “Voldemort is irrelevant. It’s your demon-spawn of a Wolfbrother that’s causing all this trouble. So you’re going to find him, and then you’re going to tie him up, lock him up, and throw away the bloody key.”

Blackbeard gave her a semi-apologetic smile. “Doll, I had no intention of generating a family feud, I promise. I just assumed…”

“Why are you still talking about the blasted wedding?” Jeanne exclaimed loudly. Several patrons paused in their conversations and turned toward them. “I’m trying to discuss business here!”

Alice placed a hand on her progeny’s arm. “Keep your voice down, Jeanne. There’s no need to-”

“It’s easy for you to say. _You’re_ invited.”

Oh, hell. It bothered her a lot more than she let on, didn’t it? Jeanne, who usually cared nothing about what people thought of her. Jeanne, who was the strongest person Alice knew. “I told you, I’m not going!” Alice repeated.

“I don’t fucking care! _Je n’en ai rien à foutre de leur mariage à la con, bordel!”_

Blackbeard chuckled. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, young lady?”

Jeanne inhaled sharply, something she did either when she was about to blow up entirely or when she was attempting to keep her cool. Alice waited for the explosion, but it didn’t come. “Can we focus on Greyback?” Jeanne demanded in a lowered voice. “You know, the reason why we’re here in the first place?”

Blackbeard nodded meekly. “Sure thing. But, um…” Jeanne shot him a withering look, and he raised his hands defensively. “It’s about Greyback. The truth is, when we told you that we would track him down… Well, we can’t. I mean, we literally can’t. You people can summon each other, or whatever you call it, but we can’t do that. We could sniff out his trail, but if he’s out of the country, and we think he is, then we won’t find him. I mean, this is a bloody island, and we can’t follow scents in water-”

“I knew it!” Jeanne exclaimed. “You never intended to search for him. You repugnant, malignant-”

“Oppugnant?” Blackbeard supplied with a grin. Attempts at humour were wasted on Jeanne, especially when she was in a mood. The Wolf had no idea how dangerous she could be, did he? Didn’t he realise that she could _kill_ him, if she felt like it? It wouldn't even take that much provocation, really.

“-stinky fucking beasts!” Jeanne finished in a huff, slamming her palm on the counter hard enough that their drinks shook. The few patrons, who’d been casually eavesdropping and eyeing the four of them curiously, quickly looked away. The bartender pretended to be busy on the far side of the bar.

Jeanne kept her glaring blue eye on Blackbeard, but his smile never faltered. “I’ve been called worse things,” the former pirate said with a good-natured shrug. He took a long sip from his stout, as though he feared that Jeanne would knock it over before he had time to consume it.

Through it all, Musashi, who’d finally sat down beside Blackbeard, remained utterly placid, slowly stirring his cup of tea, in which he’d added a nauseating amount of sugar. Was he seriously going to drink that? “Quit toying with them, Edward,” he said quietly. His English was flawless, as Alice had suspected. The Japanese had been meant to confuse them, but upon realising that Jeanne understood it, he’d abandoned the ploy. “My friend means no offence, Miss Swindler. Please forgive his rude manners.”

Blackbeard scoffed in outrage. “ _My_ rude manners?!” He looked at Alice, as if he somehow expected her support. She returned him a flat stare. “Why are you taking the Frenchie’s side?” he asked his fellow Wolf.

“Because we are all here for the same purpose: to put an end to the menace that is Greyback. We have no reason not to get along.”

“I'm not the one making things difficult,” Blackbeard muttered. “But I suppose you’re right.” He glanced at Jeanne. “Truce?” She made an indistinct, growling noise, which Blackbeard interpreted to be her assent. “Look, it’s true that no one cares about Greyback. We’ve already taken drastic measures against…Goldeneyes, so unless the pup _really_ messes up, he’s free to do as he pleases, as far as the others are concerned. Yes, including the Holy Trinity,” he answered Jeanne’s question before she could get the words out. Funny how he used Grigori Rasputin’s Wolf name, despite the fact that everyone knew who he really was. Then again, even Jeanne hadn’t been able to learn Greyback’s birth name, so perhaps there was a point to this pseudo-secrecy. “We’re the only ones who are dedicated to his arrest. Though God knows what we’ll do with him once we do find him. _If_ we find him.”

“'God'?” Jeanne sniggered. “I get why the clueless mortals say that, but you? You ought to know better.”

Blackbeard waved the irrelevant remark away. “ _Les vieilles habitudes ont la vie dure, très chère._ ”

_Old habits die hard._ Ugh. His French was impeccable. Alice really needed to pick up a few languages, no matter how bad she was at it. She felt ridiculously inadequate – and the fact that she was the oldest here only reinforced that feeling.

“Why do _you_ care about Greyback, then?” Jeanne demanded.

Blackbeard did not reply right away. He swirled the remainder of his Guinness around in its glass. “I feel responsible for what he does, alright? I turned Goldeneyes. It was obviously a mistake, considering the Great War…”

“And World War II,” Musashi added quietly.

Was he implying…had the exiled Wolf somehow initiated these conflicts? That would certainly explain why they’d banished him. Though where and how, no one among the Ancients knew. Rumours abounded, of course, but each one was least likely than the last. Some believed that Rasputin was bound and locked in a cage at the bottom of the ocean, others that he was entombed in a pyramid… It was all very silly and unrealistic. But Alice doubted that they would receive a truthful answer, should they question the Wolves directly.

Blackbeard shot Musashi a baleful look. “Yes, thank you for your input, mate. Allow me to remind you that _you_ turned _me_ , so you share in the responsibility. I should never have been allowed to choose the next Wolf without supervision. You know me better than that.”

“I am here, am I not?” Musashi said nonchalantly. “I would not have come if I didn’t deem it to be my duty. Spirits know, I see enough of you at home not to willingly spend my free evenings with you as well.”

At home? Alice blinked. Were they living together? Jeanne apparently had the same thought, because she gave Alice a side glance, one eyebrow raised. She who liked to know everything about her clients/victims/enemies had obviously missed a major clue. That explained why the two Wolves bickered so much, at least. They behaved like an old married couple.

It was…disturbing. Not because they were men, but rather because Musashi had turned Blackbeard. He was practically his father. It felt…incestuous. But perhaps only the Ancients saw it that way, that peculiar relationship between a maker and their progeny. After all, the Wolves weren’t bound by blood.

Blackbeard laughed heartily and said something in Japanese. Alice looked to Jeanne for a translation, but her daughter was not paying attention. She was…typing? Texting? on that mobile phone of hers.

Alice decided to get the conversation back on tracks. “I hope that you understand that Greyback, should you find him, must not be harmed. Under no circumstances.”

“Of course!” Blackbeard said quickly. “The girl told us about their…um, connection.” Evey had really not been tongue-tied with her rescuers, had she? Alice frowned disapprovingly. “Look, I wouldn’t dream of hurting her, I promise.” She’d also clearly made a strong impression on the Wolves. Alice wondered if it was one of her special…powers, abilities, talents, whatever term fit best. Indeed, many of the Ancients had taken a liking to her, after the Mother had cleared the air and informed them that no one would be executed. Gorgo very nearly doted on her – she claimed that Evey reminded her of her closest friend, when she was a child. Alice found it absolutely incredible that Gorgo even remembered such things, after over two thousand years. Alice herself barely remembered her mortal life, let alone her childhood. Imhotep had already practically adopted Evey as one of his direct descendants, as though she was Tony’s progeny – which she was, in a way, though Walden was more his progeny than the girl.

Alice’s thoughts on the matter of Evey and Walden’s existence were still uncertain. They were both easy to like, in their own way, but they were not true Ancients. It was quite the conundrum, in her mind, mostly because Jeanne seemed to detest the girl. Alice couldn’t decide if Jeanne was somehow jealous – either because Evey was Walden’s lover and now wife-to-be, or Tony’s best friend – or if she simply despised the girl for her hybrid status, as a few Ancients did. It was always the same trio – Pat, Cat and Liz. Those three were never up to any good. They’d already tried to sabotage the vote regarding Tony’s turning, and they’d fervently argued in favour of executing at least Walden, and preferably Tony and the girl as well. Why, Alice had no idea. She’d never had a quarrel with any of them, nor had Jeanne or even Imhotep. If she had to guess, Alice would say that they were jealous of the Mother’s attentions – she’d always favoured Imhotep, her eldest, and his line.

Blackbeard broke through Alice’s line of thought when he spoke again. “We’ll do what we can, that I can promise. We’ll keep watch at…Asgard, the prison in Snowdonia. If Greyback returns, we’ll contact you right away.”

“And what should we do with him, then?” Musashi asked his partner. “The others refuse to be involved, and they are obviously loath to repeat what they did to Goldeneyes, whatever they decided to do with him in the end.”

They didn’t know? Well, if even these two didn’t know the truth, it was unlikely that the Ancients would ever find out. “You would know if Rasputin were dead, yes?” Alice wondered aloud, her curiosity getting the better of her.

She didn’t think anyone would answer, but Blackbeard, idly scratching his beard, told her what he knew. “Hard to tell. None of us has ever died before.” That was a good point, though Alice was somehow persuaded that if anything happened to Jeanne, she would know right away. “I doubt that they killed him. They couldn’t have, not without involving you vampires, could they?” Theoretically, that was true, but then again, no one had experimented on the best way to kill a Wolf or an Ancient. Not to Alice’s knowledge, anyway.

The theory was that only a Wolf could do permanent damage to an Ancient, and vice versa. Rumour had it that Malkoran, the original Wolf, still bore the marks of a disagreement he had with the Mother, millennia ago. Not many Ancients had actually met the eldest Wolf in person, however; neither Alice nor Jeanne had had that…privilege, and Imhotep believed that it was not his place to reveal whatever he knew of Malkoran.

“They must have locked him up somewhere safe,” Blackbeard went on. He hesitated for a moment. “I tried to find him, soon after he disappeared. Picked up his scent at his last known place of residence, in Germany, then followed it halfway across the world, to China, but it was a dead end. It’s like he vanished from the face of the earth.”

“Good riddance,” Musashi stated flatly. “He did try to destroy the world, Ted. Twice.”

“I know, I know. I’m not even sure why I went looking for him. I just hope that they did manage to arrest him, that they’re not just pretending to have dealt with the matter out of pride. For all we know, Grigori is actually sowing chaos someplace we don’t know about yet. I mean, there’s always a war going on in some part of the world, isn’t there?”

“You people really can’t be bothered to keep track of each other at all, can you?” Jeanne said. “You clearly need to upgrade your leadership situation. You need to decide things together, as a whole, not individually.”

“You think we don’t know that?” Blackbeard said, exasperation seeping in his voice. “It’s not for lack of trying, lass. Malkoran refuses to talk to most of us. He’s…on a retreat. Been away for decades, now. Hannibal and the rest decided to take matters into their own hands, but our Wolf pack is not a democracy,” he said bitterly. "Far from it."

“It’s not even a pack, at this point,” Musashi added. “It’s every Wolf for himself, and that goes against everything we know of werewolves.”

“I’d love to hear you whine about your tragic family affairs,” Jeanne snapped, “but can we _please_ focus on Greyback? What else do you intend to do to find him? What happens when you _do_ find him? Will the two of you be enough to overpower him and securely, permanently bind him?”

The two Wolves exchanged a meaningful look. “We’re both stronger than him. In theory, at least,” Blackbeard said eventually. “But walls and bars won’t keep him in.”

“The magical rope that the gods used to bind Fenrir in Norse mythology would be handy,” Alice said wistfully.

The lights in the pub flickered. Blackbeard shook his head. “Codswallop, that. Gleipnir didn’t resist for long.” One of the lightbulbs above the bar went out. “Nothing can restrain… _him._ ” He seemed afraid to say the name aloud.

“But Voldemort held Greyback captive for a while, didn’t he?” Jeanne put in. “If we need black magic, I know a witch or two…”

The Wolves considered that for a moment. “That might work,” Blackbeard said slowly. “Greyback broke free of Voldemort’s dungeons eventually, but if we’re careful…” He trailed off with a shrug.

“He will be watched at all times, once he’s caught. I’ll make sure of it. The Ancients will keep an eye on him, whether you approve or not.” Neither Wolf contradicted her. “As for…Asgard,” she went on, with a moue of disdain at the daft name, “I regularly check on the area myself, though I can’t get in. I wish I could leave guards, but they don’t benefit from our ability to see through the Fidelius Charm, and the wards repel anyone not expressly allowed inside.” That seemed to annoy her greatly. Jeanne wasn’t used to being thwarted, even by magic. “That means that we rely on you entirely to keep us informed of Greyback’s return the very moment it happens.” Jeanne seemed to like that even less. She hated to rely on anyone for anything, and to have to count on Wolves, of all people, was particularly grating.

Blackbeard nodded. “Best we can do for now, I guess.” He finished his beer in one gulp. “We’ll be in touch, my dear ladies.”

He nudged Musashi in the ribs as he stood. “I haven’t even had a sip of tea!” the Wolf protested.

“How heartless of you to complain about such things in the present company,” Blackbeard chided him. “Think about our friends here, who haven’t had a single drop of tea in centuries.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Jeanne growled. “Both of you.” Thankfully, they did. Jeanne grumbled in French under her breath, and did some more angry texting on her phone.

The bartender hesitantly approached Alice. “Uh, you’re going to pay for your mates’ drinks, right?”

Jeanne stood abruptly and threw him a venomous look. He gulped down hard, his Adam’s apple ready to pop out of his throat. “Never mind,” he croaked. “It’s on the house.”

Alice stood, taking hold of Jeanne’s arm. “Leave him be,” she murmured. She searched her pockets for some loose change and put it on the counter, hoping that it more or less covered their bill, then she steered her daughter toward the door before she truly lost her temper; it would be a shame, after she’d reined it in for so long. Besides, cleaning up and covering that sort of mess was always costly. Better to avoid it altogether. “We’ve made some progress,” she said as they started walking along the sidewalk. She tried to sound positive, though she felt that this meeting had been rather fruitless. They weren’t any closer to finding Greyback, and now Jeanne knew about the wedding, which Alice had hoped wouldn’t come up until it was over.

Jeanne snorted. “We’ve hired two incompetent nitwits to assist us. You call that making progress?”

“When we know that Greyback has returned, we’ll handle him ourselves. And then we'll find a way to cure Evey, somehow. There has to be some magical...spell, or ritual, or whatever.” Jeanne said nothing. Helping Evey certainly wasn't her priority. They walked in silence for a few minutes. “Jeanne, about the wedding…”

Jeanne rounded on her, causing a handful of pedestrians to nearly crash into them. Several people muttered in annoyance, but Jeanne’s glower sent them scurrying away in a hurry. She turned her eye on Alice. “I don’t want to hear another word about it,” she said firmly. "I mean it, Al. Go if you want, I don't care, but leave me out of it.” She started walking again, without waiting to see if Alice followed. “I’m late for my next appointment, thanks to these idiots. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Alice stood watching her daughter go, and wondered if maybe she should attend the wedding just to give Antonin a proper bollocking.


	56. Like a queen in days of old

Walden stared at the two Wolves as they made their way to the bar and buffet. He hadn't dared admit that he didn't want them at the wedding, because Evey was obviously fond of them – although that was precisely the reason why he didn't want them here – but now he felt silly.

They were obviously a couple. The way they bickered, arguing about their itinerary from London to the manor house, Blackbeard wondering if his suit made him look fat and if his and Musashi’s ties didn't clash… Yes, it was obvious now. No wonder Evey had laughed at his reluctance to invite them.

Apparently, Imhotep and Gorgo were also an item. They'd arrived together, their very first guests – Molly excluded, because she'd insisted on assisting Evey with her dress and hair. Gorgo had asked where she could find Evey, because she had something to give her before the wedding, and she'd left the men to talk as she went upstairs. She hadn't reappeared since then. Neither had Molly. Walden had yet to see his wife-to-be, but according to Tony, he wasn’t supposed to see her before the wedding. He’d always assumed that it was a Muggle superstition, but Molly had concurred. It was bad luck to see your fiancée in her wedding dress.

As for the rest of the Ancients, they had declined the invitation, mainly because they were already out of the country. Alice had sent them their good wishes, and Tony had received a separate note from her that Walden hadn’t been allowed to ask about. His brother pretended that it was nothing important, and Walden had let it slide. He assumed that it had something to do with the fact that Jeanne hadn’t been invited.

The Ripper had come by the manor house earlier in December and left a letter, apologising that she had to miss the party, but she'd just received a “job” and had to depart for Canada right away. Evey had had a good laugh when she’d opened the gift the Ancient had left for them: it was a vintage “vampire kit” of the like they sold in the late 19th to early 20th century, after Bram Stoker's famous _Dracula_ novel was published. It contained all sorts of silver objects, notably bullets, crosses and stakes, as well as a bible and a pistol.

 _"Just in case you get tired of him_ , _"_ the Ripper had written, _"_ _or if he should make the mistake of crossing you_. _"_ Ancients didn't fear silver any more than they did garlic, but Walden was now severely allergic to both. Of course, the religious paraphernalia was useless, but it was still an amusing gift – at least Evey and Tony thought so.

The Bloodmother had sent a card as well, in which she expressed her fondest wish that the wedding went as they hoped, and thanked them warmly for their invitation. She’d adjoined two small carved stones, each held by a simple leather cord. The note said that, in her days, these were given from mother to daughter, and from father to son, when their offspring wished to pledge themselves to each other. The symbols represented life and death, meaning that from that day forward, they would share everything together – the good as well as the bad.

Tony was running around, making sure that everything was perfect. And it was, of course. Walden hadn't expected anything else. The garden was beautiful, brightly alight with firefly lanterns – where he'd hit upon those at this time of year, Walden had no idea – and decorated with colourful flowers that must have come a long way. Tony must have cast a Preserving Charm on them, for they looked as though they'd been picked that very morning.

The buffet seemed endless, and perhaps it was: the food replenished itself continually. The elves of Hogwarts, who had always been quite fond of Tony, had outdone themselves. Walden hoped that Caraid had at least been allowed to give a hand, otherwise the old elf would never forgive Tony.

For once in his life, Walden was very consciously glad to be wealthy. It had never really affected him before, because he'd never been much of a spender. This, however, would cost him an arm and a leg, but it was money well spent if ever there was.

The ceremony proper would take place around ten. He'd wondered at that, pointing out that everyone would be pissed by then, but Tony had assured him that the real booze-up would start after they were officially married. They would keep the stronger liquors for later and only deal out champagne and wine in small quantities, to go with the food.

Dumbledore arrived at nine, accompanied by most of the Order, as well as Professor McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid. The imposing gamekeeper looked awkward in his linty brown suit, but his face hardened when he caught sight of Walden. Hagrid hadn't forgiven him for almost killing his hippogriff, despite his knowledge that Buckbeak was very much alive. The best way to remedy that, Evey had said, would be to return the hippogriff to his original owner.

After Sirius had died and they’d abandoned Grimmauld Place, while Walden was slowly transforming into a vampire and plunged in a strange, nightmare-ridden coma, Tony had offered to give the hippogriff a new home in the woods behind Macnair manor, until they decided what to do with him. Caraid had taken good care of him – the house elf was used to dealing with all sorts of magical creatures – and later, Walden himself had made certain that the hippogriff was tended to.

Walden went around the house, where he’d left Buckbeak earlier, bowed smoothly, and politely asked the hippogriff to follow him to the garden. He was well-trained, he had to admit.

Hagrid became quite emotional after that unexpected reunion, and he almost crushed Walden in a bear hug until Dumbledore interrupted him. The old Headmaster was wearing a very _chic_ dress robe of an improbable magenta colour.

 _Nah, he's not wearing it_ , Tony corrected Walden later. _He's rocking it_.

Molly finally came downstairs a few minutes before ten to order everyone to take their places. Gorgo was still upstairs, as far as Walden could tell. Imhotep had spent most of the evening discussing with the Wolves. Whoever said that vampires and werewolves couldn't get along? They’d received many curious glances from the other guests, of course. Remus Lupin had been frowning at Blackbeard and Musashi for most of the evening. He had to know that they were werewolves, and was likely wondering why Evey, of all people, would invite two of them to her wedding, after her recent ordeal.

Tony grabbed Walden’s arm, breaking through his mind’s wandering thoughts, and pulled him toward the golden arch under which Evey and he would be wedded. Dumbledore was already there and smiled brightly when the brothers approached. Tony was still fussing with Walden's bowtie when a sudden hush fell among the guests. Musashi started playing _I'll stand by you_ , by The Pretenders, as per Evey's request, and Walden had to admit that it was more compelling than the traditional _Here comes the bride._

And then there came the bride.

* * *

In the end, despite Mrs Weasley’s appeal for something more traditional, Evey had picked out a golden dress, because it suited her complexion and hair better than a white or silvery one would have, and also – most importantly – because it was much more original.

And a good thing that she had, because the tiara that Gorgo had brought as a wedding present was of wrought gold. Evey wore no other jewellery, save the necklace that Imhotep had selected for her, and it matched the tiara perfectly. They were both quite simple in design, with no superfluous adornments, delicate and tasteful. The necklace was relatively modern, as it had been purchased in Paris in the 1920's. The tiara, however, was the one the Spartan queen wore when she was married to Leonidas, a treasure she had cherished for millennia, and it was in pristine condition. Why she had suddenly decided to part with it was beyond Evey's understanding, for Gorgo barely knew her, and yet the Queen addressed her as though they were dear friends, which was perfectly fine with Evey. She’d always had trouble getting along with other girls, but Gorgo was different. She wasn’t gossipy. She wasn’t judgemental. She was mature and genuine and she made Evey feel comfortable. It was very easy to like her. She wasn’t even mad at Walden for having a tiny crush on her – which he fiercely denied, though it was quite obvious. Tony teased him about it mercilessly.

Better Gorgo than Jeanne. Gorgo's heart was taken, anyway, so there really was no reason to be jealous. Unlike her soon-to-be-husband, Evey knew when a fit of jealousy was required.

Evey was beginning to feel light-headed with nervousness, despite knowing that everything was going according to plan. Mrs Weasley, with Gorgo's help, had turned her into a radiant bride – if she did say so herself – and she knew that the guests were in good hands. She could hear them laughing and making silly toasts as they waited outside. As promised, the Wolf Silverclaws had brought music, and it seemed that George and Fred had initiated an early dance party, to the rhythm of the Spice Girls’ _Wannabe_ , of all songs.

Everything was perfect. Tony had truly outdone himself.

Well, it was perfect except for the fact that Evey was starving. She hadn't eaten much since she’d awakened in the afternoon, and the excitement of the day seemed to have burned out what little calories she'd ingested earlier. Of course, now was not a good time to grab a bite. She just hoped that her stomach didn't rumble at the altar.

Evey glanced at the old grandfather clock in the dressing room and realised that it was almost ten already. Molly caught her movement and smiled approvingly as she finished arranging Evey's hair. "I think we're done here," she said with some satisfaction. She looked at Gorgo, who nodded in agreement. The two women got on famously well. Mrs Weasley, in her pre-wedding frenzy, hadn’t even asked who Gorgo was or how Evey knew her. As soon as Gorgo had walked in, Mrs Weasley had delegated several tasks and Gorgo’s efficiency had been enough to prove her worth in Mrs Weasley's eyes. "I'll go and gather everyone. It will only take a few minutes. Be ready, dear." She didn't wait for a reply as she hurried outside.

Gorgo smiled reassuringly and patted Evey's arm. "Don’t worry. Everything will be fine."

"I just don't like all the attention," Evey said, narrowly avoiding chewing on her lip. Mrs Weasley had already reprimanded her a few times. She shook her head at her own foolishness. "It's stupid, I know. That's what weddings are for, right? To focus everyone's attention on us, on our love."

"Think only of Walden," Gorgo advised her. "Look him in the eye, and forget everyone else. This is about you two. The others are just here for the free buffet," she added with a grin.

Evey laughed, perhaps a little too loudly, due to her agitation. "I wish _I_ could attend the buffet right now," she said wistfully.

"You should have eaten something before we applied the make-up," Gorgo said with a rueful smile. "It's too late for that now."

A bright golden light suddenly illuminated the room. That was the signal. Taking a deep breath, Evey rose from her chair and walked toward the stairs, Gorgo at her side, arm in arm to steady herself.

* * *

_Merlin, she's beautiful_ , Tony thought in wonder. His throat felt dry all of a sudden, and he cleared it as discreetly as he could. He wasn't the one who was supposed to gape and stare. But to be fair, it was difficult not to, and he had no pretty maids of honour to distract him.

He hadn't seen the dress until now; Molly had been afraid that he would describe it to Walden. It was simple enough in design, but the gold shimmered brightly and was pleasantly accentuated by the jewellery, a ravishing tiara and a cute necklace. That explained why Gorgo had spent the evening upstairs, at least. She was fond of Evey, Tony knew, although he wasn't entirely sure why. They'd only met once, after all. Perhaps Evey reminded her of someone she'd known in a past life.

There were tiny sparkling butterflies of many colours flying around the bride as she made her way down the aisle with Arthur. The balding man looked ever so proud of his part in the wedding. _It will be good practice for the future_ , Molly had told him. Walking Ginevra down the aisle would be a breeze after that. Not that it looked very complicated, admittedly.

Evey was gazing dreamily at Walden, the guests apparently forgotten. She was beaming, glowing, radiating with happiness. Did she know how beautiful she was? Did she have _any_ idea? She’d often compared herself to Fleur in the past few weeks, for reasons unknown to anyone but herself, but Fleur was a minger in comparison. If a naked Veela had appeared in front of him at that moment, Tony wouldn’t have spared her a glance.

…ok, maybe _one_ glance. After all, he wasn’t the one who would be spending the rest of the night with Evey. He could use some company, but Fleur was taken, Tonks despised him, and the rest were either too young or too old.

When Arthur left her with Walden a moment later, Evey turned briefly to Tony and grinned at him. She mouthed two words: _Thank you_. As she faced Dumbledore, Tony looked at his brother who, for once, was elegantly dressed, in a black kilt and fancy jacket, and was even wearing a shirt.

Walden looked oddly nervous; for a man who was used to facing down dragons and worse creatures, it was strange indeed. Tony hoped that Evey wouldn't interpret it to mean that she was more daunting than a dragon. Although, knowing her, she might take it as a compliment.

Dumbledore had a way with words, that couldn't be denied. The ceremony was short but quite entertaining, thanks to him. Tony didn't pay much attention to the vows – he'd helped both Walden and Evey write them, so he knew the gist of it – but instead let his acute hearing wander. There was always the possibility of an attack to consider, although he hadn't mentioned it to anyone but Dumbledore. The domain was warded in every way known to him, but who knew what Voldemort had learned in the years since his defeat, especially after he’d recovered his body?

What he caught, however, was nothing more than the noises made by Walden's pets – as Tony called the various and quite numerous magical creatures that inhabited the woods surrounding the manor house. They were supposed to be tame, partially at least, but Tony had taken no chance and raised a barrier between them and the beasts. The sounds were mostly muffled, but to him the wail of the banshee was just as piercing as if it were standing beside him. Much like the thunderous appeal of Evey's stomach.

Tony focused on the ceremony long enough to provide the couple with their respective rings. As best man, it had been his job to choose the groom's ring; Walden had wanted something simple for himself, a plain golden band – silver was obviously out of the question – and that was what he received. As Evey’s…man of honour, he’d also had to have a ring made for her. She’d wanted something original, she’d wanted to be surprised. To Tony’s relief, she laughed with delight when she saw the tiny fox with emerald eyes. He'd had it handcrafted especially for her. The fox occasionally moved along the ring and changed posture: goblin craftsmanshift at its finest.

Dumbledore ended the ceremony with a jolly remark. "And now, for those of you who haven't tried the buffet," – he looked down at Evey with a knowing smile, and she blushed – "I highly recommend the cheese _soufflés_. They are scrumptious." Tony groaned softly at the comment. Cheese _soufflé_ had always been one of his favourite dishes at Hogwarts.

The cake would be served at midnight, to give the guests time to regain their strength after being away from the buffet for so long. Tony launched another round of champagne, of course, to toast the newlywed couple.

Then he made his way toward the Muggle music box that Silverclaws had brought with him. It was about time they danced in earnest, and he’d heard wonderful things about a mysterious dance called _The Macarena._


	57. May the odds be ever in your favour

The Howler burst into flames as the blistering message ended, and Tony stared at the ashes blankly for a moment.

He hadn’t understood a single word. Had Jeanne purposefully yelled at him in French to confuse him, or had she, in her anger, forgotten that he wasn’t fluent in her native language?

The Wolf Blackbeard didn’t bother to conceal his mirth. “Boy, are you in trouble. Even I would think twice about pissing off the frog-eater.”

Tony eyed him sharply. “Did you understand any of it?”

“Well, she’s mad at you, mate.” He stirred the contents of his mug, in which he’d added more cream than there was coffee. Why would anyone ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee by adding anything to it?

“Yeah, thanks, I figured out that much,” Tony replied with a smirk.

Blackbeard shrugged. “You broke her heart. She only wants what’s best for you, her precious son, and yet you insist on being an ungrateful brat. She’s very disappointed in your behaviour. She wishes you’d at least talk to her. She can’t understand why you won’t reply to her texts or return her calls. She’s considering summoning you. And she also said never to bother asking her for help again.”

“Oh.” Nothing new, really. That was pretty much what Alice had written in her own note. “Is that it?”

“You doubt my interpretation abilities?” the Wolf demanded, his right eyebrow quirked.

“No, I just…expected more cursing, I suppose.”

Blackbeard laughed heartily. “There was! It wasn’t relevant to the message, though, so I left it out. Would you like the non-censored version?” he asked with a grin.

Tony waved the offer away. “That won’t be necessary.”

Should he contact Jeanne? Should he make peace with his maker, or try to, at least? Her threat to summon him was an empty one; she could force him to find her, but not compel him to talk or do anything he didn’t want to do – otherwise she would have done it weeks ago. She couldn’t make him like her. Couldn’t force him to be grateful or happy about his condition. Talking to her would be a waste of time, anyway. Jeanne was always right. She wouldn’t admit to a fault. She would blame Tony for everything that she was angry about. Talking to her would only make things worse.

Maybe he should contact Alice, though. He didn’t want to be at odds with her, and she was a lot more reasonable than Jeanne.

For now, however, Tony wanted to enjoy his day off at home. After weeks of intensive planning and coordinating and making calls, he needed a break.

Imhotep and Gorgo had left an hour ago, to visit Glenfinnan, the nearest village, and Silverclaws was still asleep. So was Evey, needless to say. It had been a long night. Walden would be out for the day, as usual.

The Wolves had spent the night and morning here, as well as the two Ancients. They were the only guests who had come by car, and since it had been snowing by the time the party ended, Walden had offered both couples a room – there were twelve bedrooms in total, so they could have housed all their guests, if necessary. Of course, Imhotep and Gorgo didn't sleep, but they'd taken the room anyway.

"That Malkoran bloke…your leader…what's he like?" Tony asked Blackbeard. He wasn’t particularly interested in the answer but, hopefully, making small talk with the former pirate would keep Tony distracted until Evey and Walden awoke.

The Wolf scratched his beard, and a few crumbs fell out. He’d just devoured half a dozen freshly-baked croissants, courtesy of Caraid. "I dunno. I’ve only seen him a couple of times – never addressed him directly."

Tony frowned. "Seriously? Don't you people have welcoming parties for the new recruits, or meetings once in a while?"

Mere hours after awakening as an Ancient, head spinning with the news and utterly dazed, Tony had been forced to attend such a “party”. When they’d finally allowed him to return to his temporary bedroom, mind swimming with names and historical details he didn’t care about, he’d hoped to get some sleep before remembering that he couldn’t. Instead he’d spent hours reminiscing about his life, about what he’d done, and how he’d gotten here and why. He’d wondered why he was alive at all, but it made sense, in a cruel way: his newfound immortality, an eternity to spend without food or rest, was his punishment for murdering Gideon Prewett and allying with the Dark Lord.

Of course, it also allowed for the possibility of redemption, which was why he’d begged Jeanne to return to his former life. So far, he’d done nothing to earn it, though.

"Welcoming parties? How adorable," the Wolf said crookedly. "Nope, we have nothing of the sort. Only a few meetings now and then, but not everyone's invited. Certainly not me, not since…" he trailed off, glancing away guiltily.

"But Malkoran has to give his permission before you turn the next Wolf, no?” Tony insisted.

"Lad, if Mal gave a shit, we wouldn't be in that pickle with bloody Greyback, would we? Mal shouldn't have let me bite Goldeneyes in the first place. That Russki's insane."

"You mean Rasputin, right?” Evey had explained that he was Greyback’s maker. Blackbeard nodded glumly. “But if you knew that he was…mentally unstable, why did you turn him?"

"Because he doesn't _appear_ insane. It's not obvious. The man exudes charisma. He never told us about turning Greyback, you know. We only found out years later, during the first war against Voldemort." He sighed. "Grigori mentored the cub, put silly notions in his head. The werewolf cause, as they called it, it was Grigori's idea, originally. To unite all werewolves and overtake the wizarding world. After that, subjecting the Muggles would be a walk in the park. To right the wrongs they did us, to avenge the countless werewolves who died during the Great Hunt."

The Great Hunt: an event that modern wizards liked to pretend had never happened.

Sometimes during the sixteenth century, the wizarding world had, almost as a whole, decided to exterminate werewolves, even enlisting Muggles to assist them in the task. The mania had originated in Europe – in France, to be specific, after a particularly gruesome spree of murders – and spread across Asia and Africa, reaching the Americas a few years later. It was one of the events that had led to the creation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Considered a plague worse than the Black Death by werewolves, the Great Hunt had reduced their worldwide population by nearly 75%. In a few countries, hunting and killing werewolves was still lawful, whether or not they attacked cattle or humans. They were simply considered as vermin.

That word had started more than one genocide throughout history, it seemed.

"Where is he now? Do you know?" Evey had mentioned Rasputin’s banishment.

"After he helped Grindelwald rise to power and likely fomented both World War I and II, we warned Grigori to be more discreet. He lay low for years after that, and we thought he'd gotten the message, but then we realised that he'd turned Greyback and that they were aiding Voldemort. We arrested Grigori, but I have no idea what the…higher authorities decided to do with him. Banishment for life, they called it, but what does that even mean? They couldn’t un-make him a Wolf. I doubt he’d truly be restrained very long no matter how well they bound him. Rumour has it that he’s not on earth anymore…but that’s ridiculous, of course. They wouldn’t have killed him. Malkoran doesn’t make any decision these days, but that’s his one rule: killing Wolves and Ancients is strictly forbidden, even in retaliation. Every life is precious, or some Buddhist nonsense.” He took a sip of coffee, and Tony lost focus of the conversation, staring longingly at the steaming mug. The smell alone was driving him crazy. _So close, and yet forever out of reach._

“As for Greyback…” Blackbeard went on, though Tony hadn’t prompted him and was now only half-interested in the topic he’d launched, “we didn't know what to do with him. Eventually, it was decided that he would be released and left alone, provided that he be quiet and didn't involve himself in wizarding matters. He was young, and he’d been manipulated, brainwashed, had a harsh life besides, so we went easy on him."

Greyback couldn’t have been _that_ young – he’d been at least forty-five when he was turned, older than Tony was now. Tony assumed that Blackbeard meant “young” in comparison with the other Wolves.

"What will you do if you find Greyback? Locking him up seems rather mild, considering what he’s done. What he’s still doing."

"Well, like I said, we can't kill him – both because it’s forbidden and because of Evey – and the others are reluctant to banish him, too. We can't afford to have him constantly under surveillance to make sure that he behaves." He shrugged in apology. "As we told your people before, our hands are tied."

"Why is killing forbidden, though?" Tony asked softly. He was against violence in general, but if anyone deserved death, it was Greyback. Provided that they found a way to kill him without harming Evey in the process, of course.

"For one thing, Wolves can’t kill Wolves, as you know, so we’d have to hire one of you to do the deed, and we are _very_ reluctant to do that."

Tony blinked in confusion. “I…don’t know anything of the sort. What are you talking about?”

The Wolf seemed genuinely puzzled. He leaned forward over the kitchen table. "What exactly do they teach you, at these ‘welcoming parties’ of yours?” His tone was half-mocking, half-incredulous. “You do know that we’re practically invincible, yes?” Tony nodded hesitantly. No one had ever bothered to tell him why there was a _practically_ in there. “It's impossible to do us any permanent damage. We regenerate too fast. Limbs grow back. Everything grows back."

Tony threw him a doubtful glance. Everything? He couldn’t imagine being decapitated and then having his head grow back. But he’d trust Blackbeard’s word on it. He had more experience with these things, certainly. "What about fire? What if you're burned down to ashes?" He pointed at the remains of the Howler for emphasis.

"Fire's a bloody painful way to torture us, but it won't kill us. We'll regenerate as fast as we burn."

What a pleasant notion. "Drowning? Poison?"

Blackbeard laughed. "I thought drowning would do us in for sure, but no. The water is just…repelled, somehow. Poison is eliminated from the bloodstream before it can do any damage. We're immune to magic, and silver bullets don't work, either, not like they do on regular werewolves. Or vampires. The only thing known to have the potential of ending us is a well-placed bite or scratch from one of you, as far as I know. Though we’ve never actually put that theory to the test, of course."

"One of us? You mean Ancients?"

"Uh-huh. And vice versa. Didn't you know? That’s very odd. Every Wolf is aware of the fact. Hence the blatant distrust between Wolves and Ancients. That's why our two races despise each other, lad. How can you not know that?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows knit together.

"No one saw fit to mention it, apparently," Tony muttered darkly. Damn them all. How had they not deemed it important enough to tell him? Jeanne was such a hypocrite. She expected everything from her progeny, but wasn’t willing to give anything in return, not even this very essential information.

"Well, if you tore my throat out, the wound wouldn't regenerate. I'd bleed to death." Blackbeard chuckled dryly. "Of course, you'd have to _reach_ my throat first. I doubt you would, unless I allowed it." He made a dismissive gesture. "That's purely theoretical, anyway. So far we've managed to avoid conflict that would degenerate to the point where we'd kill each other, thankfully." He rose from his seat. "Now, do you mind if I wander around the woods for a bit? Always been curious about magical creatures. Evey said that there was a dragon?" Blackbeard’s dark eyes glinted with excitement.

"Um…there is, but some of the beasts are not exactly friendly, you know. Especially the spriggans, at this time of year."

"That's alright. They won't bother a transformed Wolf, now will they?" Blackbeard said with a feral smile. He grabbed the three remaining croissants before heading out.

* * *

Evey woke up late in the afternoon, feeling ravenous. Walden wouldn't be up for another hour or two, so she put on some pyjamas and went downstairs.

It was good to be home. Although she had only been at the manor once before, she already felt like she belonged here.

She almost had a heart attack in the middle of the stairs when Walden's great-granduncle suddenly materialised and nearly floated through her. He had died forty years ago, after a freak potion-making accident – his cauldron had exploded – and his ghost had never left the house. Most of his face and neck were gone, which made it impossible for him to speak, so Evey simply waved at him and then continued on her way.

Antonin was reading _The Quibbler_ on the couch, and Silverclaws was eating some of the remaining cake and studying the portraits of Walden's ancestors which decorated the walls of the living room.

"Good afternoon," Evey said with a yawn. She peeked outside through the window. "Have you cleaned up already?" There were no traces of the wedding and ensuing party. It had lasted well into the night; the last guests to leave had been George and Fred, around four in the morning.

"The house elves did," Tony replied. "They insisted."

"Are you sure we shouldn't pay them?" Evey asked anxiously. "Or give them something, I don't know. I feel terrible, knowing that they worked so hard and are not getting anything in return."

Tony sighed, but he smiled at her. "They're _house elves_ , V. I know Muggle-borns often struggle with the concept, but that's just how it is. They're like…eager, willing slaves. I know how it sounds, but…" He made a gesture to signify he couldn't do anything about it. "They're just happy to help."

_Slaves._ Hermione would have had a fit, to hear him talk like that – and rightly so. It was one of the scarce things that Evey couldn’t stand about the wizarding world, and which made her one of the few people who understood Hermione’s fervent wish to improve house elves’ rights. Even if the elves themselves didn’t seem to want it. They just didn’t know any better, in Hermione’s opinion.

Evey took a seat beside Tony. "Fine. If you say so.” She didn’t want to feel guilty about the elves right now, not so soon after the most wonderful night of her life. “Any cake left, or did you eat it all?" she asked Silverclaws. The werewolf shook his head and pointed toward the kitchen.

According to history, the _rōnin_ had died in 1645, at age sixty-one. But the Wolves, unlike the Ancients, didn't need to die to become what they were. As they had explained to Evey during that long car drive in November, since most of them had been bitten between the age of thirty and fifty, they had to fake their deaths at some point, when the fact that they didn't age became too obvious to their contemporaries. Only Ramesses had been close to death when he was turned, and therefore looked, to put it in Ted's words, "like a well-preserved mummy". Miyamoto Musashi had been turned when he was forty-four, and had faked a fatal illness in the last years of his public life. A dead man that resembled him had been found and buried in his stead, and he had moved on.

"I'll get you a plate," Tony said before Evey could move.

Silver snorted softly at Tony’s eagerness, but he didn't say anything. "Where's the pirate?" Evey wondered.

"Outside. Fancied a look at your husband’s zoo."

_Husband_. Evey savoured the word. She couldn’t quite believe that she was married. She glanced toward the kitchen. Tony would likely hear whatever she said, but she didn’t think that he would snitch to Walden. "Everyone bought it, right?” she asked Silver. “That Ted and you are…"

The Wolf nodded, his slanted eyes brimming with amusement. “There wasn’t much acting required on Ted's part. Men flirt with Ted all the time. He’s like a gay magnet.”

Tony stood on the threshold, eyes wide. “Wait, you guys aren’t…?”

Evey flushed. “They’re not. I just thought…well, Walden didn’t seem too happy that they were coming, and…” She trailed off, biting her lip. It wasn’t really a lie, was it? She hadn’t asked the Wolves to pretend or anything. People had just _assumed_ that they were a couple, as Evey had hoped. To be fair, it was easy to believe, the way they behaved around each other - not like doting lovers, but like long-married partners who loved to bicker.

“But you live together,” Tony said, the cake forgotten in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. “When Evey called Ted, you were there too.”

Silver rolled his eyes. “You’d think that an immortal would have learned how to balance a budget and manage his financial assets, wouldn’t you? Well, that’s not Ted’s case. Man has no regular income but spends every penny he has. That's why he often ends up crashing at my place, in London, or in some other flat I own. He has a key to all of them. I’ve grown too soft with age,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t be so complacent. But he’s my progeny,” he added with a shrug, as if that explained everything.

“And, um…are you planning on telling Walden?” Tony asked Evey.

She smiled bashfully. “Guess I’ll have to, at some point.”

Tony moved forward and placed the cake and cup of tea on the table in front of her. "Sometimes I think it would be worth the mess, just to have a taste of it. It smells delicious." Apparently, he’d already dismissed the fake couple situation. When there was food nearby, Tony tended to get distracted.

"It's divine," Silverclaws concurred tactlessly. "Mind if I have another slice?" Evey shook her head, and the Wolf disappeared in the kitchen.

"I saw you dance with Tonks last night," Evey said as Tony sat beside her. "What was _that_ about? Is she…interested in you, or…"

He snorted with laughter. "I should be so lucky. Nah, she was just trying to make Remus jealous, I think."

Evey frowned. "Remus? Why? Are they in a relationship? How do I not know that?"

"Well, no, they’re not. Tonks would like that, but he's against it. Something about being too old and dangerous."

Dangerous? That was not a word Evey would associate with her former DADA professor, but he _was_ a werewolf, after all. She sometimes forgot that. "What should I say? I married a vampire twice my age."

"That’s exactly what she told Remus, but he refuses to hear it. He claims that vampires are different, more in control of their urges."

Excuses. Men were great at coming up with them. "And Tonks just told you that? You've become her confidant now?" That was unlikely.

"I overheard Molly and her talk about it some time ago," Tony admitted. "I was trying to get news of the war, but then this came up, and I kept listening out of sheer curiosity. And, um, I accidentally let it slip last night when I was dancing with Tonks.”

“I see,” Evey said noncommittally.

“She was angry, but I explained that if they allowed us in the Order’s meetings, I wouldn't have to eavesdrop on private matters inadvertently."

Evey smirked. "Nice save. And? What did she say?"

"That she'd bring it up with the others. We'll see."

That would be good. Evey would enjoy some peace and quiet here at home, some privacy too, but she was tired of being idle, just like Walden and Tony. They wanted to help bring Voldemort down. According to Professor Snape, who was also a member of the Order, the Death Eaters hadn't realised that Antonin was alive, since he'd remained invisible the entire time he was at the Ministry in June, and they now believed that Walden was dead as well, since that bastard Lestrange had killed him. Furthermore, it seemed that Greyback had not revealed Evey's existence to Voldemort, nor Antonin’s resurrection as an immortal vampire – not that Evey had expected him to, but it was still good to have confirmation. In any case, it meant that nobody – besides Greyback, but they would deal with him when the time came – would be looking for them and that there was therefore no reason for them not to participate in the Order’s activities.

"Where are the others?" Evey asked. "Imhotep and Gorgo?"

"They went down to the village. There's a Christmas market. To quote Imhotep, they find Christmas 'quaint'." Tony stood up abruptly and clapped his hands. "Now, let's get down to business." He indicated the pile of wedding gifts that occupied a large space on the buffet. "I've been dying to unwrap them for hours."

Evey hesitated. "Um…you know, technically, they're for Walden and me, so…it might be best to open them when he's around."

"Aw, come on, Wal doesn't care about the presents. He never did. I always opened his stuff on his birthday when we were younger. Pretty please?" Merlin, he looked like a kid on Christmas day - which, admittedly, was only a few days away.

"Alright, you can pick _one_. We'll open the rest later."

Tony practically bounded on the buffet and proceeded to sort through the packages.

"We didn't get you anything," Silverclaws said. Evey started, because she hadn't heard him come back from the kitchen. He made absolutely no noise when he moved – at least no noise that she could hear. "But you can keep the music records, if you want. I have copies of everything."

"Seriously? That's amazing! Thank you." She got up to hug him.

The Wolf stiffened, but he didn't push her away. "Your scent is truly mesmerising," he murmured.

Evey stepped back to frown at him. "I keep hearing that. What do I smell like, exactly?"

The Wolf cocked his head slightly, and his nostrils flared as he took a long whiff. "Cherry blossom." He closed his eyes to take it all in more fully. "White tea, and the smell of the earth after a downpour."

"So I was not imagining it," Tony said with surprise. Evey and Silver both looked at him questioningly. "When I bit you, last year," he told Evey, "I thought your blood tasted odd. Not like blood at all, in fact. I assumed I was just making up for the lack of diversity in the drinks I'm now allowed to ingest, but…" He trailed off and ruffled his hair. "It was like a blend of coffee, rum and chocolate mint ice cream, all at once, but not in an unpleasant way. As if they were all there but separately. It's hard to explain," he added with some frustration.

Evey nodded gravely. "Greyback said that I smelled like Amortentia. I couldn't make sense of it, but now…" She snorted. "Perhaps I also taste like it. It keeps getting weirder, doesn't it?"

Tony chuckled. "Weirder than picturing you as a werewolf? No, I think not." He presented her a small leather pouch that had seen better days. "I'm not sure if it's a gift, but it was on the buffet…"

Evey untied the knot and extracted a tiny vial filled with golden liquid. They all stared at it for a moment. "Is that what I think it is?" Evey finally asked Tony.

"Felix Felicis?” Evey nodded. “That would be my first guess, yes. The colour is quite unique. Is there a note?" Evey upturned the pouch, but nothing came. “Not even a name? It's an advanced potion, so I doubt it was home-brewed. But it must have cost a fortune! Even a teensy vial like that must be worth hundreds of Galleons."

Evey shook her head. She had no idea who'd thought of this incredible gift, but it would certainly prove useful in the future, when Greyback came to reclaim her, or in battle against Voldemort and his cronies.

With luck, perhaps no one would have to die. Again.


	58. Active evil is better than passive good

Well, this certainly wouldn’t improve his already foul mood.

Fenrir had had to kill a pair of intruders before entering Asgard. They were camping nearly a mile away from the prison, thanks to the extensive wards, but still way too close for comfort.

Two spies, a witch and a wizard. Foreigners, Fenrir thought. Their pathetic attempts at camouflaging themselves were truly laughable. Fenrir had sensed them the moment he’d Apparated in the area; their heat signatures stood out like a beacon amidst the frosted trees. The witch had died before she even realised that Fenrir was there, and the wizard was utterly stunned when his sparkly spell had no effect on Fenrir – his surprise had meant a quicker death for him, though he would have died regardless.

Two clueless wizards against Fenrir? No one in their right mind would bet on those odds. Who’d been foolish enough to send these underprepared idiots here? They didn’t stand a chance.

Most importantly: why had they been sent? What was their purpose? How long had they been here? Could their presence here be a mere coincidence? Snowdonia was, after all, a magical reservation, for the most part. They could have (badly) camouflaged themselves to better observe the local fauna.

It was an improbable explanation, however; magical or not, animals knew better than to wander in this part of the forest. The prison's surroundings were pretty much deserted, especially in the winter.

Feeling irritated, Fenrir realised that he should have spared one of the intruders long enough to interrogate them.

In his defence, the return flight from Peru had been trying. No space for him to sit comfortably, a noxious excuse for a meal, crying children, a fat, snoring seatmate…and, on top of that, a three-hour delay at the stopover in Berlin, of all cursed places.

But what was even worse: Fenrir had been gone for months, and he had nothing to show for his unduly long absence. Nothing. At. All. _Nichts_.

He’d travelled to North America first. He’d searched for answers throughout Native American reservations, in vain. Apparition was severely regulated in the United States, and using the clandestine network was expensive. Fenrir didn’t have bottomless funds, so he’d had to settle for plane and train tickets, like a bloody Muggle. (He didn’t have a driving licence.) On the somewhat brighter side, it had allowed him to travel anonymously, thanks to his various forged passports.

When the US of A proved completely useless, Fenrir had travelled south. Ancient civilisations – Mayan, Inca, Aztec – may provide him with clues. Nobody cared where he Apparated in South America, but Fenrir still had difficulty finding the places he wanted to visit, and the people he sought.

In the end, it proved equally fruitless. He had no idea where to look next. Nearly every country in Asia and the Middle East was known to be anti-werewolves, so he likely wouldn’t find anything relevant there. Japan had never abrogated its law regarding hunting and killing werewolves, and there was surprisingly little werewolf lore in Africa. There were no werewolves at all in Australia. On the other hand, there was a small archipelago in the Pacific Ocean where werewolves were considered sacred, much like cows in India. Travelling there would be a pain in the arse, though, and expensive as hell.

As he’d considered his next move, Fenrir had finally realised that he was delaying his return home on purpose by futilely looking for answers that didn’t exist. He’d been gone over three months, just to avoid having to deal with the girl again, confident that Scabior would handle the situation for him. The realisation had brought shame and annoyance. What sort of Alpha would do this?

Not a good one. Not the sort that Fenrir aspired to be. What would his wolves think of him? The last time they’d seen him, he’d been overpowered by a girl. Said girl had had plenty of time to instil doubt and worse thoughts in their minds, while Fenrir went on a wild goose chase across the world.

It was bloody ridiculous. He had to go back. As he’d approached the desk at the Cusco airport, instead of enquiring about renting a plane to fly him to some remote island in the Pacific, Fenrir had purchased a return flight to the UK.

And here he was, home at last. It was about bloody time he dealt with his pack, and made sure that the girl never dared turn into a werewolf again.

* * *

Despite the glacial cold – it didn’t bother Fenrir, but it was there – some of the cubs were playing outside, throwing snow balls at each other and building snow wolves. It was Sunday; they had no lessons today. Adults should have been present to watch over them, but maybe they’d taken a coffee-and-warmth break. Fenrir was the only one whose body didn’t acknowledge cold or heat.

When Fenrir came into their line of sight, the cubs scattered like sheep. He frowned as he picked up their collective scent, which reeked of terror.

That couldn’t be good.

He’d been reluctant to be away for so long, but he’d trusted Scabior to hold the fort. The girl may have managed to poison the minds of a few lesser werewolves, but Fenrir’s second was strong-willed. He would resist her pathetic attempts at turning him against Fenrir.

The cubs had always been fond of Evey, though. Her maternal instincts weren’t well-developed – at all – but she was something of a novelty at Asgard, and she liked to play with them besides. What the fuck had she told them? They were young, and easily influenced. Diabolising Fenrir would be a walk in the park, if he weren’t here to defend himself. If it looked like he’d abandoned them. Which he had, or near enough.

Fenrir shook his head, trying to dispel his concerns. His mind was conjuring the worst scenarios because he was ashamed of himself. Surely the girl wouldn’t _dare_ take his cubs away from him. In any case, Scabior wouldn’t have allowed it to happen.

He trudged forward and knocked on the massive front door. The wolf in charge should have opened it right away, recognising Fenrir’s special knock. There should have been no hesitation, yet Fenrir counted at least twenty seconds before the door finally opened. He was about to chew off the guard, but the youth’s anguish was so strong, so evident, that he hesitated. It was Duncan, a young werewolf from Northern Ireland, and the lad was literally shaking with fear. It couldn’t be the cold, not inside the building. Fenrir frowned at him, and Duncan recoiled, falling to his knees, head bowed in submission. He whimpered loudly.

_Was zur Hölle?_

He had to find Scabior. Something was terribly wrong here. Fenrir headed for the dining hall, and the men who’d been enjoying a cup of hot coffee or tea scattered just like the cubs had done a moment earlier, leaving their mugs behind and nearly trampling each other in their haste to depart. Scabior wasn’t here, and neither was the girl, Fenrir noticed. He sniffed the air.

Her unusual scent lingered faintly, but it was so faded that only Fenrir’s Wolfish sense of smell could have picked it up. It was like she hadn’t been in this room for weeks.

Struck by sudden…not panic, of course, he didn’t panic, he was the Alpha…but by a sudden sense of dread, Fenrir made his way to the girl’s cell…quite rapidly. The corridor was deserted, as though the werewolves had known not to be here when Fenrir decided to pay the girl a visit. With every step he took, Fenrir became more aware of the faintness of her characteristic scent. It was nearly gone, even here, where she’d slept.

Her cell was empty, though he’d expected it by then. Her few things were still there – a book, borrowed sunglasses, some clothes – as though she’d left in a hurry. The bed wasn’t made, but that was usual. She never bothered to make it.

Fenrir let out a roar of rage and punched a wall, crashing through the brick, then ripped out the bars of her cell. How had she escaped? Scabior would never-

Fenrir took a deep breath in an attempt at calming himself. If he went looking for Scabior in his present condition, he would bash his head in before his second had a chance to defend himself.

He had to take many deep breaths before his white-hot, frenzied fury subsided somewhat, and by the time he approached Scabior’s room, he was all cold, grim scorn instead.

For a moment he’d almost hoped that Scabior was dead, despite the fact that his scent was very much present. It would have been a better explanation – the only explanation that Fenrir was willing to accept, really. Scabior couldn’t have simply released her. He had to know that Fenrir would tear him to shreds if he did.

As he halted before Scabior’s door, he noted that it was wide open. Scabior was sitting on a chair, back straight, hands in his lap, head respectfully bowed, his grey eyes on the floor. He was facing toward Fenrir. They must have warned him that he’d returned.

Scabior tensed when Fenrir appeared in the doorframe, but he didn’t move, didn’t recoil. He did smell of fear and agitation, but it was controlled. Fenrir had taught him well, he admitted grudgingly.

“I hope that you had a good reason for letting her go,” Fenrir said softly. It was obvious that she was gone, not dead. If she’d been harmed or killed, Fenrir would have known right away.

“They would have butchered us all to get to her,” Scabior replied in an even softer tone. _Always speak in a voice lower than your Alpha’s_ : that was one of the first rules that the cubs learned. That and: _never make eye contact unless you intend to fight your Alpha to the death and win._ “They threatened the whole pack, and I think that they meant it, Fenrir. I couldn’t risk it.”

“Who the fuck is ‘they’?” Fenrir demanded. No one knew that the girl was here.

“Wolves. Three of them. Cortés and Blackbeard, and some Japanese bloke who didn’t introduce himself.”

Musashi. That sneaky bastard. Fenrir’s anger switched from Scabior to the three Wolves with barely a pause. How _dare_ they trespass on his turf without his permission? Without him even being here? It was outrageous! Fenrir punched another wall. He had to punch _something_ , and Scabior wouldn’t do.

“How did they find out about the girl? How did they know she was here?” he growled.

“The pirate said that the…Mother had sent them.”

The _Bloodmother_? The Ancients’ leader? It could only mean one thing: the fucking leeches were involved, and they’d allied with some of the Wolves. It couldn’t be all of them, Fenrir knew. Without Malkoran to unite them, to _lead_ them, the Wolves worked individually, not as a proper pack. Grigori had warned him not to trust those who were loyal to the Elder, and Fenrir didn’t. Then again, he didn’t trust the rest of them, either.

Dolohov had to be behind this. He was the common denominator. He was an Ancient – for some reason that completely evaded Fenrir – and he must have guessed that Greyback was a Wolf. Somehow, he’d managed to forge an alliance between two races that under no circumstances should ever be in the same room with one another.

All that just to save the girl. Was she his lover or something? Nah. She was way too young, barely an adult. Since when was Dolohov so intent on being a good guy, anyway? He’d done some horrible things for Voldemort, during the last war. Perhaps becoming an Ancient had softened him. Dying was kind of a life-changing event, Fenrir supposed.

“I will accept any punishment you see fit to bestow upon me, of course,” Scabior said with sombre formality. He’d spoken without being spoken to, but Fenrir chose to disregard that minor breach in werewolf etiquette. “I have failed you. I have betrayed your trust.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Fenrir said roughly. “I was afraid that the girl had gotten to you, that you’d released her because she _asked_ you to, but if the Wolves were involved… There’s nothing you could have done to prevent them from taking her, not without losing your life and possibly that of everyone else. You did the right thing, Scabior. You protected the pack. The girl isn’t part of it, despite what some may believe. I just hope that she didn't mess with their brains too much while I was gone.”

“She did,” Scabior admitted. Fenrir glared at him. “But they still respect you. Your status remains unchanged, Alpha.”

“Then why did they flee in terror when I walked in?” he muttered darkly.

“Because they knew that the girl was gone, and that you didn’t,” Scabior said. _Otherwise you would have returned sooner_ , his tone implied.

Right. That made sense. It was glaringly obvious, in fact. They’d been afraid of how he would react. Fenrir should have figured it out by himself, but given the circumstances… He was still furious at the Wolves, felt betrayed by them. He’d never been on good terms with any of them, but this was a new level of treacherous backstabbing. They’d allied with _vampires_ against one of their own. Fenrir couldn’t quite get his head around it.

Grigori would have laughed and told him that he should have seen it coming, should have been better prepared. After his maker had been banished, Fenrir had been allowed by his elders to live on in the United Kingdom, but under certain conditions. He could found a pack, but never reveal his true nature. He couldn’t involve himself in political or martial matters. Siding with Voldemort _again_ was risky enough, but the Wolves probably didn’t consider him as enough of a threat to the human world. Because of their imperviousness to magic, they had a tendency to underestimate wizards, despite their knowledge that Voldemort had once managed to capture Fenrir.

The last condition was that Fenrir couldn’t do anything that was susceptible to breach the secrecy to which every Wolf – and Ancient – was bound. The world could never discover their existence, the wizarding world least of all. The worst part was, Fenrir agreed with that. If Voldemort ever realised that immortal beings walked the earth, he would… Well, first he would curse himself for ever allowing Fenrir to escape containment, all those years ago, and then he would somehow use it to his advantage to conquer the world. Fenrir did not want that to happen. _He_ was meant to conquer the world, he and his pack, all werewolves of the world unified under one Alpha.

But the fact that Evey had survived his attack had been a terrible breach indeed, though it had been done unwittingly, and Fenrir hadn’t found out about it until June. If the Wolves knew about it, they might decide to banish him as they had Grigori. His pack would be dissolved. The cubs would go to the orphanage – werewolves were not allowed to be placed in a foster family; it was deemed too dangerous. There were a couple of orphanages in Great Britain that accommodated young wolves exclusively. Dreadful places, but Fenrir couldn’t afford to adopt all the werewolf kids. Not yet, anyway.

The rest of the pack would be back on the streets, most of them unable to find a proper job and committing thievery (and worse) just to survive. Fenrir couldn’t allow that to happen. He’d worked too hard to save them from that poor excuse of a life.

They had to leave Asgard, before the Wolves realised that Fenrir had returned - and that wouldn’t take long. The presence of the witch and wizard suddenly made sense. The prison was under surveillance; they’d been awaiting him. As soon as they realised that their sentries were dead, Barca and his cronies would come for Fenrir.

That he had to abandon his home only made him more furious at the betrayal. They would pay for this, one way or another.

Unfortunately, Fenrir couldn’t kill the Wolves himself, but he could take care of the fucking bloodsuckers, at least. He would pick them out one by one. Dolohov would be the first to die.

And when Fenrir retrieved the girl – he would lose no time looking for her, and spare no expense; she belonged to him – she would regret leaving the prison in the first place.

* * *

Jeanne glanced at her phone when it beeped, and an envelope appeared on the screen.

_New message from Obnoxious Pirate_

Jeanne groaned softly. She doubted that it was good news – Blackbeard would have called if they’d spotted or arrested Greyback. And indeed:

_“Sentries are dead. Bodies found entangled, necks broken. Cub is obviously back in the country, but prison is abandoned. No trace of him or his pack. No scent to follow. We’re currently going through the place, searching for clues.”_

Jeanne re-read the message twice. She couldn’t say that she was surprised, but she was certainly annoyed. The Wolves wouldn’t find any evidence of Greyback’s whereabouts. He wasn’t utterly stupid, unlike his fellow Wolves. And he had magic – dark magic – on his side.

Her anger was mostly directed at the hired wizards, however. For one thing, they hadn’t come cheap, due to the high-risk mission, and for another, they were supposed to place some sort of spell on their person in the event of their untimely death, which would let Jeanne know what had happened, so that she could travel to Asgard right away. They were also supposed to mask their scents and be invisible. And what the hell were they doing together anyway? They were meant to separately patrol different areas surrounding the prison, so that if something happened to one of them, the other could relay the news to Jeanne. Instead they'd been idly chatting and, for all she knew, roasting marshmallows over a fire.

Senseless, lazy, incompetent wizards. You could never trust them to do a job properly. The last one Jeanne had hired to Apparate with her had caused one of her eyebrows to disappear, and he hadn’t been able to fix it.

Needless to say, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Then again, it was likely that they – Jeanne, Alice, and the Wolves – had simply underestimated Greyback. He was, after all, a predator, a hunter. The wizards couldn’t have presented much of a challenge, especially if they weren't paying attention. Jeanne should have been there. She’d scouted the prison’s surroundings as often as possible, but of course Greyback had decided to return the day after the fucking wedding.

Jeanne had watched the union from afar. She’d been invisible, and she’d had someone magically mask her scent, so that the Wolves wouldn’t spot her, but Imhotep had glanced in her direction several times regardless of her precautions, as though he could somehow sense her presence. That hadn’t stopped her from staying until the end of the ceremony and ensuing party. She’d considered yelling at Antonin in person. She’d considered disrupting the wedding to do so. She’d felt so… _hurt_ , watching them, happy and unaware of her being miserable. How dare they have a good time without her? They were family. Alice and Jeanne should have been there.

She didn’t understand. She’d never cared about someone’s opinion of her before. She’d never thought that ‘family’ meant anything. She cared about Imhotep, about Alice, but she would be perfectly fine without them. She was used to being on her own.

Antonin had changed her, had deeply, irrevocably altered her entire view of life (and death), similarly to a new mother welcoming her first child into the world. Except much worse.

Jeanne loved him. Not in a creepy way; at least she didn’t think so. She wasn’t _in love_ with him. But she cared about Antonin more than she cared about herself, and that thought alone was disturbing.

Even more troubling: she was afraid for him, in a way that she couldn’t quite put into words. She, Jeanne, who had banished fear when she’d been reborn, centuries ago, was terrified.

Now that Greyback had returned, he would be looking for the girl, and Antonin was never far from her. He would be her first line of defence, but Jeanne’s progeny wouldn’t survive a fight against the Wolf. By Ancient standards, Antonin was a new-born baby, and he had no defensive skills other than his magic, which was of course useless on Wolves. Greyback would eat him for breakfast.

That was why Jeanne was so determined to reconnect with Antonin. He needed protection. They had apparently added several wards and charms to the Macnair domain right after the wedding, but would it stop a Wolf?

So Jeanne had sent him a Howler instead of making a scene at the wedding. She had to convey her frustration, her intention to make peace, but she couldn’t afford to let him think that she was weak and desperate. (She wasn’t!). She had to make him see sense, before it was too late.

She didn’t know what she would do if she lost him.

No, that was a lie. She did. She knew exactly what she would do. She would start by killing Greyback. Slowly. She’d make it as excruciating as possible. Then she would go after the bloody useless pirate and his boyfriend. Then she would find the others, one by one, and end the Wolves once and for all, Malkoran included. Honestly, the Ancients should have annihilated the beasts long ago. They were their sole enemies, the only creatures with the power to kill them. To kill Antonin. They shouldn’t be allowed to exist. They were abominations.

How Jeanne wished that Antonin hadn’t fallen in love with the bloody girl. How had no one else noticed? It was written all over his face. Jeanne had seen the yearning and torment in his eyes as Walden had kissed his new bride at the altar, and she’d felt his pain. How dare they break Antonin’s heart? Didn’t they care about him at all?

Because of her progeny’s silly crush - he could do a  _lot_ better than the hybrid girl - Jeanne couldn’t simply kill Greyback, no matter that he deserved it and that no one would mourn him and that she really wanted to. Antonin would never forgive her if anything happened to Evey, and she shared a physical connection with the Wolf. Or so she claimed.

Therefore Jeanne would _not_ kill the blasted Wolf…unless Greyback attacked Antonin and she had no other choice. Better that Antonin be mad at her and alive than…well, mad at her and dead. Jeanne would do her best to spare the girl unless Antonin's life was on the line.

Jeanne wished they’d realise that killing Greyback could be as simple as that: killing the bloody girl. They wouldn’t have to endanger themselves. The girl would be doing the world a favour, dying a heroine’s noble death, sacrificing her life so that Greyback never hurt anyone else. So that Antonin could be safe forever.

Jeanne wished everyone was as practical and sensible as she was, but if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.


	59. Secrets breed paranoia

They had initially planned to spend a quiet Christmas day at the manor, just the three of them, but at Mrs Weasley's implacable insistence they’d finally agreed to join the others at the Burrow for supper.

And now Evey knew why Mrs Weasley had insisted. She didn’t doubt that Mrs Weasley sincerely wanted them to be present for the occasion, but there was a hidden motive. Not a pleasant one.

The day after the wedding, Tony had put up several new wards around the Macnair domain, and “freshened up” the old ones, and they had also elected Evey as their Secret Keeper. Presently, only Ancients and Wolves with no ill intents were able to enter the area – in other words, if the wards worked properly, Greyback shouldn’t be able to get in.

Even the few scattered members of the Order of the Phoenix were not allowed within the protected zone. Evey had assured them that it was a mere precaution, mainly directed at Greyback and Voldemort, and that they would lift it the moment the war was over – and when Greyback had been dealt with, one way or another.

However, the news that Mrs Weasley had to deliver on this snowy Christmas day was better delivered in person, or so she claimed.

Personally, Evey would have preferred to be at home when she found out, surrounded by her husband and her best friend for support, instead of being about to have a five-course meal with a bunch of people she didn’t know that well.

Mrs Weasley asked her to sit down in the kitchen – the other guests were in the living room, being entertained by Mr Weasley, who had acquired a _Tamagotchi_ and was showing it around to everyone, marvelling at its “Muggle magic” – and forced a cup of tea in her hands. According to Mrs Weasley, a cup of tea could fix everything. She’d wanted to talk to Evey in private, but Evey had pointed out that, whatever she had to say, Walden and Tony would know of it in a matter of minutes, if not right away, considering their enhanced sense of hearing.

“It’s frightful news, I’m afraid,” Mrs Weasley said. “I’m terribly sorry to bring it up on Christmas, dear, but…” She trailed off, anxiously stirring her tea.

Evey couldn’t stand it a moment longer. “Mrs Weasley, what’s going on?” she prompted the older woman.

“Your house…that is, your parents’ house…Professor Dumbledore was there last night…one of the magical alarms went off…” She moved her hand forward and laid it on Evey’s. It took all of Evey’s self-control not to recoil. She hated to be touched without warning or having given her express consent, but Mrs Weasley was obviously distraught. “It burned down. There’s…there’s nothing left of it.”

Evey stared at her in shock and incomprehension. “I don’t…I don’t understand. Who would do this, and why?”

It struck her at the same moment that Tony spoke. “Greyback. He must’ve returned, and found you gone. That’s his way of demonstrating that he’s not too happy about it, I guess.”

Mrs Weasley nodded. “That was also Dumbledore’s conclusion.”

Walden had put his good arm around Evey; he looked as puzzled as Evey felt. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Greyback’s a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. The house…well, he should have used it to bait you. By destroying it, he’s severely reduced his chances of ever finding you again. Not that I’m complaining,” he added hastily.

Evey had indeed considered going back to her old house, her childhood house, now that she was allowed outside. Mrs Weasley had made a compelling argument about the three of them remaining at the manor house at all times, for their own safety, but they didn’t have to follow the Order’s rules any longer. That didn’t mean that they weren’t careful, of course. In truth, both Walden and Tony were reluctant to let Evey go anywhere beyond the reach of the wards.

But now she could never go back. The house, like her family, was nothing but ashes.

It wasn’t about retrieving memorabilia or clothes or family heirlooms. Going back would have been torture. Evey would have cried the entire time she was there, her head full of happy memories, and of all the things her parents and her brother would never share with her – like her wedding.

It would have been about closure, about saying goodbye. She’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Tony seemed to read her thoughts, and he put a hand on her shoulder. She hated to be touched against her will, but Walden and Tony would always be the exception to the rule. “I know it’s not much comfort, but you have the photo album, at least.”

“Going there would have torn your heart apart,” Walden said quietly. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

“You’ll always have your memories, V,” Tony added. “No one can take that away from you.”

“Walden’s right, though,” Evey said slowly. “As much as his ability to think like a psychopath creeps me out, he is right. Why would Greyback burn it down, when it was the only place I might visit that was also accessible to him?”

“To send a message?” Tony surmised. “To let you know that he’s back, and on the lookout for you?”

“More likely,” Walden said, “he seriously didn’t expect you to escape, overconfidence being one of his known weaknesses, and he was so furious when he found out that he decided to do something he knew would hurt you.”

Evey studied him for a moment. “It’s really creepy, you know.”

“Well, it’s part of my job,” Walden said defensively. “I’ve hunted rogue werewolves in the past. I know how they think, how they behave. Wolves and mere werewolves are not so different. Greyback may claim to be in perfect control at all times, but he’s only deluding himself. Cunning or not, he’s not always rational. He makes rash, spur-of-the-moment decisions, just like the rest of us.”

 _‘It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.’_ Yes, Greyback had admitted to that before, it was true. The attack on Evey’s family had been unpremeditated, according to him. Her irresistible scent had drawn him in, supposedly, and had caused him to…do what he had done. “I think you’re both right,” she said eventually. “It was a message. He wants me to know. He wants me to be afraid. And he was trying to hurt me, that much is certain.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Tony assured her, at the same time that Mrs Weasley said, “We won’t allow him to capture you again, dear.”

Walden smiled, and his smile was both fierce and incredibly tender. “What they said.” He tightened his grip on her, and Evey leaned forward into the embrace. “The only thing he succeeded in doing is to let us know to be on our guards. And we will. He won’t ever touch you again, that I promise you.”

* * *

Evey wanted desperately to go home – surely, Mrs Weasley would understand, given the circumstances – but if she did go home, she would only mope around, feeling sorry for herself and terrified besides, no matter what the others said. It wasn’t simply her own safety that worried her, it was that of everyone else: Walden, Tony, possibly Mrs Weasley and her family, but also Greyback’s pack. How had the Alpha reacted to her unexpected disappearance? Had he blamed Scabior for it, and if he had, what had he done about it?

Evey had to find out, otherwise she would never sleep properly again. She needed to go to Asgard, but she doubted that Walden and Tony would agree to that. Or perhaps she could ask Ted to go and have a look around?

“Hey, try not to think about it now, alright?” Tony said softly. “Enjoy the meal.” He glanced longingly at the glazed ham. Evey sometimes wondered how he could stand being so near the food without being able to taste it. It would certainly drive _her_ mad, were she in his situation.

There weren’t many people around the table. Harry and his friends had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, and most members of the Order were busy – either celebrating Christmas with their own families, or working. George and Fred were there, and their brother Bill - his fiancée, Fleur, was in France with her parents and little sister - as well as Remus Lupin. Tonks was spending her day off with her family. Kingsley Shacklebolt was at the Ministry, and Alastor Moody had rejected Mrs Weasley’s invitation.

And yet the person whose absence struck Evey the most was Sirius. She thought she'd hidden it fairly well, but the news of his death had been like a punch in the guts. After everything she'd been through, it had been the last straw. She hadn't talked about it to anyone, though. There wasn't much to say. He was gone, and there was nothing to be done about it.

It was one of the reasons why she had decided to sit beside Remus, who looked a bit...lonely. Of course, Walden and Tony were seated on the other side of her.

"We didn't really get a chance to talk since I got back," she told Remus. Well...except that one time, at her welcome-back party, when she’d yelled at him for being so suspicious of Tony. When she’d more than implied that they were hiding things from the Order.

Hopefully, he’d forgotten about that.

“I’m sorry about Sirius,” Evey went on quickly, before he could interrogate her. “I know you two were close.”

Remus sighed. “I feel so guilty, you know? He was my best friend for so long, my very _first_ friend, one of the few people in this world who loved me for who I am, _despite_ what I am, but it never occurred to me that he was innocent, all those years he spent at Azkaban. I failed him as a friend. Completely. And yet he forgave me, though I hardly deserved it." He paused briefly, glumly pushing his food around. "I failed to save him in the end.”

Evey wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t expected such raw honesty from him, such naked vulnerability. They weren’t close at all. After all, Evey barely knew him – he’d been her professor for a year, and then she’d seen him a few times at the Grimmauld place, but that was it.

But sometimes talking to a relative stranger was easier.

“It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right? I know the feeling, believe me, but it wasn’t your fault. Don’t burden yourself with unwarranted guilt. Sirius wouldn’t want that.” Remus knew Sirius better than Evey did, certainly, but she was the one who’d spent the last months of his life in his company. “He was never angry at you. He was just glad to have you back in his life – you and Harry. Gods, how he doted on Harry.” Evey smiled, remembering the dozens of pictures Sirius had taken with his godson during the previous Christmas holidays. “He would have adopted him, if he could. Once they cleared his name, he would have.” She cleared her throat roughly, before she started crying. She was supposed to comfort Remus, not make him feel worse. “He would want you to carry on. To be Harry’s godfather in his stead. I know he would.” Remus remained silent, but his eyes were shining. She _was_ making it worse. She glanced at Walden. _Help._

“Change the subject,” he murmured.

Evey wracked her brain for a less heart-breaking topic of conversation. "Um, Tony told me that you worked hard on getting information regarding my situation, despite the obvious danger to yourself. He said that you were infiltrating a pack?" Remus was very sensitive about being a werewolf, so perhaps this wasn’t the best question to ask, but what else was there? Besides, she was curious. What was Remus hoping to achieve by joining a pack? The werewolves were unlikely to help the Order. Society had been hard on them; it always had been. Evey hadn't needed Jabbar or Croyd to tell her that.

At least hunting and killing them was illegal now. In most countries.

The werewolves of Great Britain were divided in three categories, each roughly equivalent in numbers. There was Greyback's pack, largest and foremost in the British Isles, and possibly in Europe; there were the werewolves who belonged to other, smaller packs (of which there were about forty, scattered across the kingdom); and finally, there were the lone wolves, who were not affiliated to any pack and lived a solitary existence, for the most part.

The lone wolves, or rogues, as pack wolves called them, were unlikely to take part in the present conflict unless they were to gain something from it. Voldemort, of course, knew that very well and had acted on it during the First War. It had been one of Walden's first tasks to recruit them. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort started recruiting them this time around, if he hadn't done so already. He would promise to allow them to live as they wished, without constraint. It had worked the first time, so there was no hoping they would turn him down now. They were like mercenaries, keeping to themselves in times of peace but selling themselves to the highest bidder in a crisis. Of course, there were some who were different, like Remus, who thought of the bigger picture. A few had even abandoned their packs to ensure their families' safety. After being cloistered at Asgard for so long, that last part didn't make much sense to Evey. Pack members always looked out for each other, and for each other's spouses and families, although having children was not exactly a common occurrence among werewolves – for good reason, since the odds of giving birth to a healthy child were down to 50%.

The werewolves who belonged in other packs were not likely to act unless they were compelled to do it. They preferred to keep to themselves; they helped each other out and made do with what they had but rarely involved themselves in affairs that did not directly affect them. They would turn down Voldemort for as long as they dared, but Greyback might be enough to convince them to join the dark wizard's ranks. They hated Greyback, true, but they feared him more than they despised him. And if an Alpha decided to go over, his pack would follow.

And of course the Order had little to offer to either of those categories. They couldn't keep them safe from Voldemort or Greyback, and they could make no promise for a better life in the future. The werewolves had received enough empty promises over the centuries to recognise them.

"I was trying to recruit them," Remus explained. "Being accepted by the pack alone took me months, however. They still don't trust me, for the most part. I've been away too long." He grimaced, his voice turning sour. "I was hoping to join Greyback's pack, to tell you the truth. He was the one who turned me, so I thought he might be more compliant. But no one would let me know where he is, or how to find him. They hate him, you know. But they are also terrified of him, even the pack leaders."

"Which is exactly why they hate him," Evey pointed out. She already knew all that. Greyback had been quite frustrated with these other Alphas who wouldn't submit to him and join his pack because they were too prideful and, according to Greyback, that was why the wizarding world refused to grant them any right, because they were not united. Greyback often threatened to take over their packs, but had never followed through with his threats.

Remus nodded gravely. "He could be a true leader, if he wanted to," he murmured. "I hate him for what he did to me, you understand, and for what he’s done to you and to so many people over the years, but in spite of that…he could shake things up, if he bothered to do it properly. If he sought the people's respect, instead of their fear; if he tried to compromise, to negotiate, instead of sending messages via the trail of bodies he leaves in his wake…"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I told him and his pack." To no avail, but she _had_ tried.

"It's too late now, of course," Remus went on. "He should have done that from the beginning. His alliance with Voldemort during the First War destroyed any chance of ending the werewolves' stigma, and his continued loyalty to the wrong side is making it worse, even now. He has likely doomed us all." He shook his head ruefully. "You are too young to know what it was like during the war, and in the years that followed. When Voldemort was brought down by Harry, we celebrated for weeks, but that is only the part people want to remember. There was a long period of paranoia, of general distrust as the remaining Death Eaters were hunted down. And since Greyback had so publicly declared his support for Voldemort, and because his pack was so large, the rest of the world lumped all the werewolves together. What little betterment we'd earned for ourselves before the war was annulled, as if it had never existed at all. We were back to where we were in the Middle Ages, or near enough."

"That must be what prompted Belby to create the Wolfsbane," Evey said. "To allay the general backlash following Greyback's treason."

"Indeed. Belby's grandfather was a werewolf, you see. He was assaulted in the aftermath of the war, and badly injured, because his attackers employed silver." He exhaled deeply. "Unfortunately, for all that it is quite effective, the potion is too difficult to brew, and too expensive by far. Few werewolves were given proper education, almost none can keep a steady job, and most live in poverty. Not to mention that not all of them are wizards." He shrugged. "The introduction of the Wolfsbane helped, I suppose. A little. What we need now is for it to be made easily and cheaply available to all." He let out a bitter chuckle. "I don't see that happening any time soon."

"But the other werewolves," Evey said, "they're not allied with Voldemort, are they? The ones from the pack you joined, for example."

"Not yet, but Death Eaters are pressuring them on one side, and Greyback on the other. It won't be long until Benjamin – our Alpha – gives in. If he doesn't, they'll just kill him and replace him. By one of the rogues, most likely. I received recent tidings that recruiting among their ranks is going well. I don't know why Voldemort even bothers with the smaller packs. He already has half the werewolves of England on his side, at the very least."

"Greyback's pack is not exactly at his disposal, though. That's what I've been told, anyway." Scabior claimed that Greyback never sent any of his wolves to do Voldemort's bidding, and wouldn't, unless they volunteered.

Remus didn't say anything for a minute. He appeared to be considering. "Greyback likes to give his subordinates the illusion of free will," he said eventually. "But make no mistake," he went on earnestly, leaning forward. "They are being misled. He's using them to get what he wants, although exactly what that is I have only the vaguest idea. Greyback plans in the long run, but in the end his wolves are mere pawns." He scowled faintly. "Did he tell you anything that might help the Order? I'll understand if you'd rather not discuss what happened when you were there, but any scrap of information you might have gleaned could be useful."

Evey thought it over for a moment, then glanced at Tony. He was looking at them, obviously listening in on their conversation. Should she tell Remus what she knew about Greyback? The Wolves had not made her promise not to reveal their existence, but it seemed implied. How much should she share with the Order? Tony shook his head slightly, as if he'd read her mind. Exposing the Wolves would almost certainly lead to discovering the Ancients. And what was worse, they would find out about _her_.

Then again, it was likely a matter of time before Mrs Weasley revealed what she knew.

Could the Order be trusted with that knowledge? Evey had no reason to doubt Remus, or any of the others for that matter, but she was reluctant to betray the people who had rescued her. Besides, what advantage would that piece of information yield? Knowing that Greyback was immortal and nigh-on invincible was of little relevance to the conflict at hand, as were Evey’s…peculiarities. It was on Voldemort that they should be focusing. Evey would take care of Greyback herself, somehow. Their fate was linked.

"He never discussed his alliance with Voldemort or anything even remotely connected to his plans." That was entirely true and, in fact, Evey didn't think that Greyback had much insight regarding the dark wizard's intentions. He wasn't a Death Eater, after all. No matter how highly Greyback thought of himself, Voldemort only considered him as a tool, and an inferior, expendable one at that. Of course, Voldemort had no idea what he really had in Greyback, otherwise he would have him locked up and kept under constant watch. He would want to find a way to transfer, extract or contract Greyback's immortality somehow. It was a wonder that Voldemort hadn't realised something was off about the werewolf when he had first captured him, all these years ago. Croyd said they'd done all sorts of experiments on him. How had they not understood that he was more than he appeared?

"Evey…" Remus began hesitantly. He paused to clear his throat. "If you need to talk about what happened, I–"

"I don't," she assured him. "There's nothing to tell. Really." She probably sounded too vehement. She tried to slow her speech. "He didn't do anything to me."

He looked confused. "I just don't get it. Why did he take you? Is it related to what happened last year? He recognised you, and–" He frowned. "But why _take_ you? Why not kill you? Is it possible that he or Voldemort had something in mind for you? But what could it be?" He chuckled weakly. "I mean, you are a gifted young witch, Evey, but you are not the only one, and you're Muggle-born besides. Why _you_?"

Her choice was now between an outright lie or the honest truth. If she remained vague, Remus would know she was hiding something, and if she lied… Could he tell when people lied? Scabior had explained that a werewolf's senses remained sharper even in human form if he didn't take Wolfsbane for a long period of time, but Croyd had added later that it was only true of the wolves who had been turned by Greyback himself. Jabbar and he, for example, did not share that particularity with Greyback's second. Evey assumed it was because of the Wolf blood.

She looked toward Tony again, then turned to Walden, who sat next to her. He hadn't said anything, but he had been listening, she was certain.

"The Order ought to know," Walden whispered. "It’s time. What's the point of keeping it secret?" he asked Tony. He was speaking very softly; Evey could barely catch his words, but that wouldn't matter to Antonin.

"Keeping what a secret?" Remus demanded. His tone was cool. Well, apparently he _did_ benefit from a keener sense of hearing, at least.

Evey shifted in her seat to face him again. His face had hardened, and he looked angry, suspicious. "We'll tell you everything if you include us in future Order's meetings," she told him on a whim. That sounded a lot like blackmail, but what the hell. She was bluffing, in any case. Mrs Weasley could easily explain everything, but Remus didn't know that. It was worth a try.

Remus was silent for a long time, studying her with a dark scowl, so long that Evey shrugged and turned her attention to her food.

"There will be a meeting in a few days," Remus said eventually. "I'll talk to Dumbledore."


	60. Glad we straightened that out

"Can't believe it took a year and a half before we're finally allowed to attend a bloody meeting," Walden muttered as they walked toward the main gate of the property, to a spot where they could Disapparate from, outside of the wards. "There's so much we could have done already."

"Like what?" Tony asked wryly. He felt as frustrated as his brother for being left out for so long, but what was the use of complaining about it, especially now?

"I could have negotiated with the giants myself, for one thing. I speak their native language and several dialects, so I might have had more luck than Hagrid," Walden replied. His tone implied that he would have succeeded even without luck. "We could have tried to recruit some vampires – I’m one of them, after all. And I could have talked to the werewolves who don't belong to Greyback's pack, too. I know most of the minor Alphas."

"That's what Remus has been doing," Evey pointed out.

"He’s joined Ben’s pack, but he’s gained nothing so far, not even relevant information," Walden countered.

Evey ignored him. “As for the vampires, they don’t exactly hang out with their own kind, or with anyone else, for that matter.” Vampires and werewolves were opposite in many ways; unlike werewolves, who tended to live in packs, vampires were usually loners, sometimes even hermits. “And there aren’t that many of them anyway.”

According to the latest Ministry count, which dated from the early 1970’s, there were fewer than a hundred vampires in Great Britain, though there were about thrice as many part-vampires. Vampires were under a strict obligation to drink animal blood exclusively; turning people or feeding from them, even with their consent, had been outlawed soon after the International Statute of Secrecy came into existence. Vampires weren’t even allowed to drink from live animals anymore; it was considered animal cruelty. A whole blood market had therefore developed, as well as a not-so-secret black market for human blood, as was to be expected. People in desperate need of quick cash were known to sell their blood, a practice that was quite dangerous for the vampires who purchased it, since they were not immune to blood diseases. At least part-vampires didn’t need blood to survive.

Walden shrugged. “Still worth a try.”

"Look, you can't really blame the Order," Evey told him gently. "They had good reason not to trust you. Either of you. Or me," she added after a brief hesitation. Merlin knew, she’d kept her share of secrets from the Order.

"And if Voldemort had realised that we were alive and captured us," Tony went on, "it would have been a disaster. You are well aware that he has ways of obtaining the information he wants." He himself was too good an Occlumens to have his mind overtaken, even by Voldemort, especially now, as a magic-proof Ancient, but Walden was another matter, though Tony didn’t say that out loud. Now that he thought about it, it would be a good idea to teach Evey the basics of Occlumency, just in case. He would bring it up later, when they got back home.

"But any member of the Order could be taken and interrogated, with the same result," Walden retorted. "And what does it matter if they realise I'm alive? They already know that I deserted and went over to Dumbledore."

They had reached the area that was not warded against Apparition and they paused at the gate for a moment. "Wal, it's no use bringing this up now," Evey said. "Just be glad that they're letting us participate at last."

Walden scoffed. "Do you really believe they will let us do anything?"

"What do you mean?" she asked with a frown.

"They want to know what happened to you, V. How you escaped. They want to pry out what we're hiding from them. I doubt they'll send us on missions. They still don't trust us, you know, whatever they might say when we get there."

Evey reflected on it for a minute. "Well, it's about time they knew everything, don't you think? I'm sure they'll understand why we kept it secret for so long, and when they see that we're willing to be completely honest, they'll accept us."

"No offense, but that sounds incredibly naïve," Walden said.

Evey smirked. "Are we seriously going to fight over this? At least let us get there first and see what they want. Then you can call me naïve, if you're proven right."

They had discussed it at length the previous night and they had all agreed that it was time to reveal the existence of the Wolves and Ancients to the Order. It was simply too important: what if the Wolves who had refused to help rescue Evey decided to join Greyback and form an alliance with Voldemort? They had to be prepared, if it ever came to that. And the Order should know about Tony, and Evey, although both were still reluctant to let anyone know. But it was necessary. There was too much at stake; secrecy was a luxury they couldn't afford any longer.

Although Tony highly doubted that the Ancients would see it that way.

They materialised at the Burrow a few seconds later and Evey knocked on the door. Molly asked her a question – they each had a personal question and answer that served as password and proved that they were who they claimed to be – and they were allowed inside when Evey gave the correct answer.

They were among the first to arrive; only Arthur and Bill were sitting at the table. Molly offered them tea, which Tony refused with a grumble. She _knew_ that he couldn't drink anything but human blood, so why did she keep asking? Evey and Walden both declined as well, probably for his sake.

There was a knock on the door before they had time to take a seat. Tonks, Alastor Moody and Kingsley Shacklebolt walked in soon afterward, and Remus was close behind them.

They were waiting for Dumbledore and Snape, Arthur said after they'd exchanged all the adequate social niceties and everyone was settled down, with tea and biscuits for those who were lucky enough to be able to ingest them.

It was another half hour before the Hogwarts Headmaster and the former Potions Master joined them. Snape was his usual austere, greasy-haired self and sat down at the end of the table without a word while Dumbledore greeted everyone warmly and gratefully accepted Molly's offer of a cup of tea.

"Mr and Mrs Macnair," Dumbledore said jovially, "thank you for joining us today. And you, Antonin." Actually, Evey had decided to keep her maiden name, but she still grinned at the words. She was still on what Tony called a 'wedding high'. Dumbledore smiled at them all in turn, his blue eyes twinkling, before pursuing. "I'm afraid that this meeting will not be particularly exciting, as there seems to be very little to report." He shifted his piercing gaze to Evey. "But perhaps we will begin with something that should have been discussed weeks ago." He gestured toward her. "Mrs Macnair, would you please let us know what transpired during your captivity at the hands of the werewolf known as Fenrir Greyback?"

"Known as?" Bill repeated with a frown. "Why? It's not his real name?"

Evey shook her head. "No, but I don't know what the real one is."

"What _I_ would like to know," Moody cut in, "is how you escaped." He cocked his head toward Remus, who, Tony noticed, had seated himself as far away from Tonks as he could get. "By all accounts, Greyback's…pack numbers in the hundreds. How did you get past them, girl? Or did you magic your way out of there, somehow? I'm also inclined to think that the place is heavily warded, as indicated by the fact that no information could be extracted from the werewolves that were interrogated."

" _Who_ were interrogated," Tonks corrected him, almost distractedly. “They’re people, Alastor.” Remus glanced at her briefly before returning his attention to the retired Auror.

Moody made a dismissive gesture and fixed Evey with both his normal eye and the magical one. That device was quite ingenious; Tony wished he could study it. He’d never dare ask, though. Moody was the Auror who’d arrested him and, quite frankly, he was terrifying, even now that they were on the same side. "How _did_ you make it out of there?"

Tony had assumed that Molly had already made up some likely story for the Order, but apparently, she’d kept silent. She must be tired of covering up for them, though, and no wonder. They’d had no right to ask that of her in the first place.

"She didn't escape on her own," Walden replied coolly. Moody had also arrested him, after Voldemort’s supposed demise, though Walden had been released soon afterwards, after Tony had confessed to murdering both Gideon and Fabian and having Walden under the influence of the Imperium Curse. Tony had a feeling that Moody knew that he’d lied. "We asked for help."

"And how did you do that, lad, what with you being confined here at the Burrow while the girl was gone?" Moody's enchanted eye was searching the three of them in turn. Not for the first time, Tony wondered if it could see through solid matter, such as their clothes, or even their flesh. It was a disturbing thought.

"Did you really believe I'd just sit here while you were doing _nothing_ to find her?" Walden said scornfully. "Of course we bloody well went out to look for her. Every fucking night." Funny how his Scottish accent was always more pronounced when he was angry or upset, just as it had been when he was a child. And how he tended to swear like Jeanne, too.

"Hey," Tonks interjected, "that's hardly fair! Walden, we did everything we could to find Evey. Remus went out of his way to get information, at great risk to himself."

"And how did you expect _that_ to work?" Walden went on. What was he doing? They hadn't come here to put the blame on anyone. What would be the point? Evey was here now, and safe. Walden glared at Remus. "I'm sorry, mate, but you just don't cut it as a werewolf. It's a wonder you even managed to be accepted in a pack, even one as rubbish as Ben's." Benjamin Blackwood was the Alpha of the Oxford pack. Apparently, Walden had had dealings with him in the past, seeking help to apprehend some rogue werewolves, most likely. Walden turned to Tonks. "All the packs in England wouldn't dare go after Greyback even if they were working together, but you expect _him_ , alone, to do it? This is–"

Evey abruptly put a hand on his good arm. "Cut it out," she whispered through gritted teeth. "What the hell are you doing? Remus is not to blame, and you know it. He couldn't have found me even if he had every single Alpha in the whole damn world at his back. You _know_ that."

Walden opened his mouth to retort but clearly thought better of it when Evey kicked him in the shin. His jaw closed with an audible _clack_ , though he still glowered at his wife.

Evey gave him a last warning look before directing her attention to Remus. "Sorry about that. It's been difficult for everyone." That was a mild word for it. She turned to Moody. "I'm afraid answering your question will necessitate a few…um, contextual elements," she told him apologetically.

She proceeded to tell them everything, just as they had planned. It took a long time, and she was often interrupted by questions, mostly by Moody, Tonks and Remus; the latter looked dumbfounded when she explained that she'd survived a werewolf bite and actually gasped when she later announced that she'd transformed into one. Dumbledore didn't speak at all. He was listening intently, eyes focused on Evey, but he didn’t look surprised by anything she said.

 _He knew_ , Tony thought. Somehow, Dumbledore had known all along, part of it at least, but he’d never told anyone. For Evey’s sake? To reduce the chances of Voldemort finding out? Some other obscure reason? Tony suspected that he wouldn’t like the answer, whatever it was. Behind Dumbledore’s grandfatherly, chipper attitude, a cold, calculating man examined every situation ruthlessly, and carefully weighed his various options. Tony had seen that side of Dumbledore when Walden and he had first approached him about joining the Order, and it had creeped him the hell out.

Snape remained silent and affected a bored, unconcerned expression throughout the entire story. Arthur and his son looked shocked, but they didn't interfere. Molly, of course, did her best to conceal the fact that she’d known for months, without much success; it was written all over her face. No one called her out on it, though.

When Evey came to the actual planning for her rescue – if it could be called a plan – she turned to Tony. "Maybe you should tell that part. You were there, and you're less likely to grumble about the whole thing," she added with a pointed look to her husband, who pretended not to notice.

Tony obliged, although there wasn't much to say. The essential had been covered.

"So Greyback – or whatever his name is – is in fact a werewolf with supernatural abilities, and he is immortal and near-indestructible," Shacklebolt summed up the part that apparently bothered him the most. Evey nodded. "And there are thirteen others like him."

Technically, twelve, since Rasputin was unaccounted for. But that was irrelevant, and they were not naming anyone, so Tony let it slide.

"Yes, but as I said, only Greyback follows Voldemort. Well, in Greyback's mind, he's not a follower. He considers himself above everyone else. He actually referred to himself as a god-like being once," Evey said wryly.

Shacklebolt waved that away impatiently. "If they don't work with Voldemort, they might help us," he went on, addressing Dumbledore. "The vampires as well. They've already helped one of us, so we have reason to believe that they are opposed to Voldemort."

"No, that's not quite right," Tony said. He didn’t like where this was going. "They don't support or oppose anyone. They don't take part, neither the Wolves nor the Ancients."

This was precisely what Tony had been afraid of. It was one thing to let the Order know, but they couldn't afford for the werewolves or the vampires – especially the latter – to find out about it. They'd given no names, of course, but this was still enough to get them executed. The Order had to see that. "If you involve them, or even attempt to contact them, they're more likely to destroy you in a fit of annoyance than to kill Voldemort. They _cannot_ know that you know. I thought she'd made that clear," he went on, indicating Evey. "We thought you ought to know about the Wolves, in case some of them decide to join Greyback, though it's unlikely, but the Ancients… We gave you that information out of courtesy, not because we think they can help us win the war. They will not."

"But that's ridiculous!" Tonks exclaimed. "Kingsley is right, they have already involved themselves. And it concerns them as much as it concerns us," she continued. "If Voldemort takes over the country, who knows what will happen next? He won't be satisfied with that. He wants to rule the world, to rid it of all… _impurity_. We're _all_ concerned, immortal or not."

"Besides, Voldemort seeks to avoid death," Shacklebolt added. "If he learns that there are immortal beings around, it's only a matter of time before he hunts them down. And he _will_ find out, sooner or later. Greyback will mention it, or he'll have the knowledge extracted from his mind. I daresay that they are in more danger even than we are."

Tony shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no. That's all wrong. For one thing, you can't use magic against Greyback, in case you'd forgotten, though Evey literally just told you that a minute ago," he said. Evey cleared her throat and Tony blinked, realising that he was being Walden-esque. "Yeah. Anyway. Greyback won't tell Voldemort, you can be certain of that. He's not stupid. He despises Voldemort, and certainly doesn’t trust him."

"Don’t you see?" Walden said heatedly. "Greyback’s using Voldemort as a springboard for his own takeover. He doesn't care about blood purity and all that rubbish. All that matters to him is the cause, as he calls it – the werewolf cause."

"Though he can use magic," Evey explained more calmly, "Greyback despises the wizarding world at large. He blames witches and wizards for the past and ongoing poor treatment of werewolves, for the dreadful lives they must do with." She glanced at Remus. "He's not wrong on that account, obviously, but he's going about it the wrong way, as I'm sure you'll agree."

Remus nodded. "As I've said before, they need a true leader, someone who can make things better without angering the rest of the world." He frowned suddenly. " _We_ need a proper leader," he amended in a low voice.

"I'm sorry, Remus, but this is not what we need to focus on right now," Shacklebolt said quietly. He leaned forward and addressed Tony. "These…Ancients, they are _your_ people. They allowed you to fight alongside us, and they already gave us assistance in rescuing this young lady. What makes you think that they would refuse an alliance?"

"Are you dense, or what?" Tony exclaimed. He was running out of patience. "Do you need to hear it in another language, perhaps? Walden speaks many, if it helps," he said with a twist of the mouth. " _They cannot know_. Three simple words; it's not that complicated. Can you get them into that thick skull of yours?"

"Don't make us regret telling you, Shacklebolt," Walden warned him.

"Mr Shacklebolt," Evey said after throwing them both a disapproving glare, "what they're trying to say is that, regardless of their potential will to help, we must not involve the Ancients, because it's against the rules to reveal their existence to mere mortals, if you'll pardon me the expression. Tony has already put himself at great risk just to save me, and we were lucky to be released with a warning. If they realise that we've told anyone else – and a large number of people at that – the consequences would be dire, possibly deadly. Not just for us, but for the entire Order."

"On the bright side," she went on with a sudden smile, in an obvious attempt to distract them, "you have one Ancient on your side, a vampire and…well, me. Surely you can find some use for us?"

"Oh, I believe we can," Dumbledore spoke at last.

* * *

“Told you they would allow us to help,” Evey gloated as they made their way back to the manor house. Her green sneakers left muddy footprints in the melting snow.

Walden mumbled something indistinct under his breath, then spoke up so they could understand him. “Molly made us promise to give you proper training before we did anything else, though. It’ll take some time. The war might be over by the time we-”

“What are you implying?” Evey huffed, stopping dead in her tracks to confront him, hands on her hips. “That I’m useless? That I’m slow?”

Tony hid a smile behind his hand. She was so cute when she was angry. But she would kill him if she knew that he was thinking that.

Walden gaped at her slightly. “No! I’m just…I’m being realistic, V. You’ve become…better at duelling, but-”

Ouch. He’d hesitated too long. Way too long. To be fair, Evey _was_ quite terrible at duelling.

“It’s not my fault if I have a lousy teacher!” she yelled at her husband.

Tony took a step forward. That was hardly fair! He’d been teaching her, too. “You can’t become a master dueller in a few months, darling. No one expects you to. And besides,” he went on quickly before she could retort, “you have other things to learn. Occlumency, for a start, and you really should learn how to Apparate on your own. And perhaps take some time to master your special abilities – being a werewolf, being invisible. We should experiment, find out if you can both at the same time, how quickly you can transform, that sort of things.”

She was still cross, but it wasn’t directed at Tony, so she made her voice softer to address him. “I don’t need all that just to recruit a bunch of vampires and werewolves,” she argued. “I’m just going to _talk_ to them, not fight them to the death.”

Walden sighed. “V, we have to consider exterior threats. Every time you go beyond the wards, your safety is at stake. Anything could happen. I’d never allow you to go anywhere alone, but even if we’re with you, well, we were there when Greyback captured you the first time.”

“You’d never _allow_ me? I know we’re married, but you’re not the boss of me,” Evey said. Her voice had decreased in volume, which somehow made it sound even more dangerous. Her blazing eyes could have set Walden on fire.

“That’s not what I said! Don’t put words in my mouth,” Walden protested vehemently.

They were being ridiculous. “Cut it out, children,” Tony said with mock sternness. “V, you know that Walden is only trying to keep you alive. And Wal…stop being sexist.”

His brother glared at him with a betrayed look in his eyes. “I’m not!”

Tony chuckled. “I know, but you need to choose your words more carefully, mate.” He put one hand on Evey’s shoulder, and the other on Walden’s. “How about this? We give Evey some intensive training for two months and, in the meantime, Walden makes appointments and initiates discussion with the vampires and werewolves. From the manor. No one goes outside for now. Alright?” They both nodded reluctantly. “And who knows – with a bit of luck, they’ll have caught Greyback by then and it’ll be relatively safe to step out of our little high-security haven.”

Evey snorted in a very unlady-like fashion. Then again, she tended to do most things in a very unlady-like fashion. “Might as well wish for world peace. They’ll never catch him, not unless he lets them.”

Tony shrugged. “Fair enough. But do you agree to the terms? We only want what’s best for you, V. You know that.”

“Fine!” she said, exasperation seeping in her voice, which had thankfully returned to its normal volume. “But I want to add one condition.” Tony gazed at her expectantly, and Walden frowned. “You will also teach me how to become an Animagus,” she told her husband.

Walden opened his mouth to refuse, Tony guessed, but he thought better of it. “If you insist.” He wisely didn’t say that it would take years, that it was hardly a priority, that it was also a rather dangerous pursuit. People had died trying to master the trick. He wisely left it at that, likely hoping that Evey would abandon the idea when she realised how difficult it really was.

Evey allowed herself a small, self-satisfied smile.

 _She’s a Slytherin alright_ , Tony thought amusedly. And she definitely wouldn’t need lessons in how to wrap her husband around her little finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I'm sorry, but I won't be updating for about two weeks.


	61. I would burn cities to the ground

Evey was running through the woods, awkwardly stumbling over roots, low branches lashing at her. Blood dripped from a cut on her forehead before the wound closed an instant later. Her muscles ached, her lungs burned. The full moon was like a searching spotlight above her, occasionally showing through the canopy.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what she was running toward, or what she was running _from_.

She only knew that she had to keep going.

She woke up with a start, shaking with fear, drenched in sweat. It took a moment for her brain to adjust before she realised what had awakened her: an alarm blaring, the deafening noise resounding throughout the ancient walls of Macnair manor.

Evey glanced to her left; Walden was fast asleep. The sun would be up for another couple of hours, judging by the clock, and her husband would lie dead until the dark settled. It still unnerved her, to see him like that. So pale, so immobile. His chest never rising.

She nearly fell off the bed as the door banged open. Tony stepped inside, his hair wild, eyes wide with agitation. “V? Are you alright?”

Evey nodded mutely, rearranging the covers when she remembered that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Tony didn’t appear to notice, however. He was now standing near the window and peering outside. “Someone tried to get in,” he murmured. “Someone who’s not supposed to-”

He cut off abruptly, and Evey saw his face change, a look of pure horror distorting his smooth, youthful features. She stood, hastily pulling the bed sheet around her. She was about to ask what was wrong, but there was no need.

Greyback stood at the edge of the estate, just a foot behind the main gate.

He was too far for Evey to make him out precisely, but she recognised him right away. His stature and height, his bearing…and the fact that he wasn’t wearing a jacket, despite the sub-zero temperature.

They remained silent for a minute, Evey holding her breath, expecting the Wolf to somehow bypass the wards and leisurely stroll within the heavily-protected perimeter. Tony had moved forward to place himself in front of her.

“How did he…?” Evey began to say. _How did he find us?_ But it didn’t matter _how_ , did it? Greyback had tracked them down. He had come to reclaim Evey. He was _right there_.

And yet he didn’t move. She couldn’t make out his eyes, but he was clearly studying what lay ahead of him. How much could he see? How much could he hear, and smell? The Fidelius had no effect on Wolves, so for all Evey knew, Greyback was looking right at them and could make out every word.

“He can see us,” Tony whispered. “His gaze shifted when you came to the window. He’s spotted you. He knows you’re here.”

Evey gulped down some saliva, but she did her best to remain pragmatic. “At least we know that the wards are efficient.”

“We know that the alarm works, anyway,” Tony said uneasily.

The noise had stopped, Evey realised. She’d been so shocked to find Greyback in her front yard that she’d forgotten about it. “If he could get through, he would have, Tony.”

“Why is he still there?” Tony wondered. “What is he waiting for?”

“He wants us to know. He wants _me_ to know. The moment I set foot out there…” She didn’t even want to think about it. Recapture. More torture. This time, worse than that awaited her. It wouldn’t matter that she could turn into a werewolf. She didn’t have the element of surprise on her side, not anymore, and she doubted that she was truly stronger than Greyback.

“Sometimes I wonder if Walden is right about him, you know,” Tony said in a low voice. “Is it really overconfidence that makes him do the things he does? Because I find it utterly stupid. First he destroys the one place you might have visited, then once he finds out where you live, he makes sure that you see him, as though he doesn’t want you to go outside at all.”

“Overconfidence makes you do very stupid things,” Evey said. “Or maybe he has some other plan. Maybe he wants me to stay safely inside, to make certain I won’t get myself hurt or killed in the war. Or maybe he knows how to get through the wards and wants us to wonder how long it will take before he gets in. Fear tactics. That’s what he does best.” As if on cue – had he heard her? – Greyback waved in their direction, sending a chill down Evey’s spine.

“It’s possible, I guess,” Tony said. “Either way, if he wants you to stay safely inside, he’ll be happy to learn that that’s exactly what’ll happen.”

Evey glared at him. “No way! We’re finally allowed to work for the Order, Tony. I won’t-”

“You already agreed to it, V. You promised you’d be careful, at least for a few months. Now that we know that Greyback is out there and knows exactly where to find you, there’s no way we’re letting you go outside.” He placed a hand on her shoulder before she could protest. “Like it or not, Walden, Greyback and I all have a common goal: to keep you alive.”

* * *

“Did he reappear?” Tony asked Walden as he walked into the kitchen.

Walden shook his head slowly. Evey had told him about their unwelcome visitor the moment he’d awakened, but Greyback had been gone by then. According to Evey, he’d stayed only long enough to signal his presence. “No. Not that I could see, anyway,” he amended. For all he knew, the werewolf was going around the property to try to find breaches and weak spots in the wards. Tony had verified the entire perimeter that evening, twice, but Walden still wasn’t reassured. “I wonder who told him where to find us.”

“Could be someone from his pack,” Tony ventured. “Evey might have let slip that you were her fiancé.”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead,” Walden reminded him. “Greyback saw Rodolphus kill me. He even told Evey about it.”

Tony smiled thinly. “Wal, how many werewolves did you interrogate when you were trying to find Evey?”

“They were not part of his pack.”

“Don’t be naïve. If someone’s been asking about him, Greyback will know.”

Walden sighed reflexively. “He can see us, you said? He can see through the wards?” Tony nodded. “Is there anything we can do about that?” They couldn’t chase the Wolf off the area – not by themselves, not without risking their lives – but if they could at least prevent him from spying on them…

“You know the wards as well as I do, Wal. It’s all there, the whole package. Most of them just don’t work on Wolves. Be grateful that there’s one keeping him out. The best we can do is make certain that V doesn’t wander too far, and perhaps have her turn invisible when she’s in the woods.”

“I’d rather she stayed inside the house at all times,” Walden said. “Until Greyback’s been dealt with.”

“You must be joking,” Evey said. Walden flinched; he hadn’t realised that she was downstairs. She marched into the kitchen, hands on her hips, eyes blazing. “We were stuck at Grimmauld place for a year, Walden, and it was _suffocating_. We know that the wards are safe. You can’t keep me prisoner in my own house. I won’t stop going to the garden or the woods. No way.”

Walden tried to think of an argument to change her mind, but he knew that it was useless. She didn’t care about his peace of mind, obviously. “We should be thinking of something to get rid of him, instead of devising the best way to keep me in,” Evey went on firmly.

“And what do you suggest?” Walden asked. “Throw a stick, hope he gets lost while fetching it?”

He should know better than to be sarcastic when his wife was cross. “Don’t be a twat,” she snapped. “There is at least one viable option: Wolves and Ancients.”

Tony was looking at her, frowning. “Can you…expand on that idea?”

“They can patrol the edge of the wards and take Greyback down when they find him,” she explained, as though it was simplicity itself. “Then lock him up until we can sever our connection.” She paused briefly. “Then we can dispose of him permanently.”

“Wolves can’t harm their peers,” Tony reminded her. “Even if Ted and Silver have him outnumbered, I don’t know if they’ll be able to subdue him. As for Ancients… V, they’ll never agree to this. You know, when they said we were family, it didn’t mean that they would spend their free time helping us with wizarding affairs. It only meant that they wouldn’t kill us, really. That’s what we told the Order, remember?”

Evey ignored him. “Ideally, we’d need a team including both Wolves and Ancients,” she mused. “Wolves to track down Greyback and restrain him, Ancients to incapacitate him. Preferably without killing him,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

Walden ran that sentence in his mind a second time, and found that he didn’t like it one bit. “What do you mean, _preferably_?”

Evey carefully avoided looking at him. “I’m just saying…if they can’t arrest him without killing him…maybe it would be best for everyone if-”

She was interrupted by a knock on the front door.

Evey gasped softly. She always wanted to look tough and strong – and Merlin knew, she was – but deep down, Walden knew that she was terrified of Greyback. Despite that, he also knew that she’d do anything to end him, to prevent him from hurting anyone else.

Even sacrificing herself, apparently.

* * *

Tony cautiously leaned toward the spyhole. In all logic, Greyback wouldn’t have used the front door, he repeated to himself for the tenth time since the initial knock – there had been four more after that, each more insistent than the last.

All he could see through the spyhole was a bunch of fiery hair. “Alice?” he called without opening the door.

“Yes, it’s me. Open up.” She shifted her head so that he could see her face through the tiny hole.

Tony hesitated. It did sound and look like her, but... “What’s your favourite blood type?”

He heard a faint chuckle. “B negative, human temperature. Antonin, please. We have to talk.”

Well, he didn’t have much choice. To his surprise, the door revealed not only Alice, but also Jeanne and…Blackbeard. “What the…?” Tony began. “What is this?” He didn’t move to let them pass, not right away. Was it mere coincidence that these three showed up on their doorstep mere hours after Greyback was spotted outside the wards? Tony doubted it.

Jeanne rolled her eyes when he kept blocking the entrance. “There’s important business we need to discuss. Let us in.”

“It’s about Greyback,” Alice added.

 _Definitely not a coincidence,_ Tony thought. This confirmed his suspicion that Jeanne had him under surveillance, somehow. “Why’s Ted here?” he asked, refusing to budge until he was certain that it was safe to let them in. He had no quarrel with Blackbeard, but they didn’t know who’d revealed their location to Greyback, and the former pirate was, after all, a Wolf.

“We’re working together,” Ted said cheerfully.

Jeanne scoffed. “He invited himself along.” She clearly didn’t approve of his presence.

“Evey’s my friend,” the Wolf stated. “I have a right to be here.”

Tony hesitated a moment longer, but they couldn’t stay on the threshold indefinitely. “Fine. Come in.”

Evey was seated at the kitchen table when they walked in. She glowered at Jeanne the moment she set foot in the kitchen and ignored Alice, but she got up to hug Blackbeard. “Hey, kiddo,” Ted greeted her. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?” she said with a frown. “I live here. I should be asking you that question.”

“I assumed that you two lovebirds would be on your honeymoon.”

Honeymoon? Merlin. Tony was sure that he’d planned the wedding of the century, but he’d completely forgotten about _that_. He glanced at Evey sideways, but she just chuckled. “It wasn’t exactly a priority, given the circumstances. We’ll go on honeymoon after we’ve defeated Voldemort.”

Jeanne cleared her throat. _Right. Sensitive subject._ She was still cross that she hadn’t been invited to the wedding. Though why, Tony didn’t know. She obviously hated Evey – a feeling that was reciprocated.

Walden looked beyond embarrassed. “Um, hi. Ted, we have tea and coffee, but I’m afraid we only have animal blood to offer you…” he said to Alice and Jeanne.

“Some coffee would be ni-” Ted began to say.

“You’ve been one of us for nearly two years, fledgling,” Jeanne interrupted him, addressing Tony as though he was the only other person in the room. “Do you intend to ever find a supplier of fresh mortal blood? Please tell me you haven’t been feeding off the hybrid,” she added with a moue of distaste.

She hadn’t waited long before being unpleasant. To be fair, Tony hadn’t expected her to. Thankfully, Evey didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she stood and poured some coffee for Ted, who accepted it with a grin and a wink.

“I’m not hungry,” Tony said testily. “Why are you here, Jeanne? What do you want?”

Alice made an appeasing gesture. “Antonin, your maker is right. You need to find a proper source of sustenance. In the meantime, here is something to keep you going a few more weeks.” She took something out of her coat pocket. A silvery flask, Tony saw when she handed it to him. He removed the cap and took a tiny sip.

Yep, still disgusting. He put the flask on the table and hoped that he wouldn’t be hungry for another thousand years.

“We’ll discuss suppliers and voluntary donors later,” Alice went on. She sat down across from Evey, who’d resumed her seat, then gestured for Jeanne to sit beside her. Ted leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee.

“Greyback knows you’re here,” Jeanne said without preamble.

Tony smirked. “Thanks, we hadn’t noticed.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she said menacingly. “You can’t stay here, Antonin. It’s too dangerous.”

As though he was the one in danger. “He’s after Evey, not me. Do you know a safer place for her? Greyback can’t get past our wards, Jeanne. How do you even know-”

Jeanne gave Evey a one-eyed glance, as if she’d only noticed her. “You’re all in danger,” she agreed with bad grace. “Greyback wants the girl, but he won’t hesitate to kill you to get her. Both of you. We are here to prevent that.”

“It’s funny, we were just talking about-” Walden began.

“It’s _not_ funny,” Jeanne said. Walden’s mouth clicked shut. “Look, I don’t care what happens to the girl, but I need to know that _you_ are safe.” Again, addressing Tony as though no one else was around. “And if it means killing Greyback, so be it. ”

“You can’t _kill_ him, Jeanne,” Tony said angrily, before even Walden could protest. “We talked about this. He’s-”

Jeanne’s head swivelled toward Evey, so fast that a mere mortal would have cracked their neck in the process. “ _Tu ne voudrais pas nous faire une faveur et te donner la mort, pour qu’on puisse passer à autre chose?_ ”

Tony narrowed his eyes at her. He had no idea what she’d just said, but given the look of pure horror on Walden’s face, it was bad. Evey, being as monolingual as Tony, appeared confused, though she must have guessed that, whatever Jeanne had said, it wasn’t a compliment. Alice, oddly, gave her progeny a reproachful glare.

It was Blackbeard who broke the awkward silence. Unfortunately, he replied in Jeanne’s native language. “ _Si vous touchez à un seul de ses cheveux, vous aurez affaire à moi._ ” He smiled good-naturedly as he spoke, so it was impossible to guess the meaning behind the words, but Walden nodded fiercely and muttered something that sounded like even more French.

“Would everyone mind speaking English?” Evey huffed.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, love,” Ted said, holding Jeanne’s gaze. “The mean lady is just teasing, I’m sure.”

The “mean lady” opened her mouth, presumably to chew him off, but Alice forestalled her. “This was never an option. Jeanne, that was out of line. Stick to the plan, please.”

“Out of line?!” Walden repeated. “She just suggested…!”

“Suggested what?” Evey asked.

Tony would have liked to know, too, but Walden groaned and avoided his wife’s scrutinising eyes, instead turning to Jeanne. “If you ever speak of this again where I can hear you, I will-”

“You will what?” Jeanne said with a crooked smile. “Please. Do tell.”

“Alright, enough!” Tony exclaimed. “Jeanne, shut up. Don’t give me that look,” he warned her. “It’s either that, or I’ll rescind your invitation.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to say another word. Technically, he couldn't do it himself, but Jeanne didn't know that. She kept her mouth shut, but Tony knew it wouldn't last.

“You know what?” Evey spoke into the brief silence. “Let's pretend that nothing happened. You're going to tell us why you’re here, then you’re going to leave. Except you, Ted, of course. You’re always welcome.” She scowled. “Where’s Silver, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s moved to another flat. Marrakesh, I think. Was tired of me. It happens.” He shrugged.

“You broke up?” Walden asked.

“Um…” Ted looked at Evey questioningly, which was not a very subtle thing to do. “Well, we, er… We’re taking a break, or something…”

“They’re not a couple, Wal,” Evey admitted.

Tony didn’t think that Walden’s face could go any paler, but somehow it did. “To be fair, no one ever said that they were,” Evey added quickly. “You just assumed.”

“And you were quite happy to let me assume,” Walden grumbled. Evey’s cheeks coloured, and she bit her lip.

“Nobody cares about the pirate’s love life,” Jeanne said in a bored voice. “Can we get to the point?”

Evey smirked. “Yes, please do. Anything to make you go away.”

“That’s exactly the opposite of what I intend to do,” Jeanne said sweetly. “If Antonin refuses to leave, then I’m staying here, because only Alice and I can truly protect him from Greyback.”

“For the last time,” Tony said with unconcealed irritation, “Greyback is after Evey, not me, and he cannot get past our wards. And you can’t harm him, let alone kill him.”

“Not to mention that we don’t want you here,” Walden remarked. “Not after that ‘suggestion’ of yours. If I can’t trust you, you’re not welcome here, Ancient or not, family or not.”

“Don’t be foolish, child,” Alice said. “You need us.”

“Is anyone even listening to me?” Tony complained. “We _don’t_ need you. We’re safe here. Greyback gave us a fright, yes, but as long as we stay within the warded area, he can’t reach us.”

“I could stay,” Blackbeard offered. “Just me. If it comes to a fight with the cub, I can probably take him, or at least keep him busy long enough for you to escape. He can’t harm me, and I can’t damage him – nobody gets hurt. It’s a win-win arrangement. Especially if it means that I get to live here,” he added with an appreciative smile. “I really do love this place of yours, Macnairs.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable, because you’re not staying here,” Walden growled. “None of you are.”

“What did I do?” Alice protested.

“Walden, Ted does have a point,” Evey said. “We’re _probably_ safe, but if worst came to worst…”

“You know I’m an Ancient too, right?” Tony said. “I can handle Greyback, if he-”

Jeanne’s mirthless laugh interrupted him. “You’re deluding yourself, fledgling. Alice and I would be hard-pressed to defeat the Wolf, and we have experience and strength on our side. You have nothing. No combat skill. You can barely use your powers without injuring yourself. Greyback will skin you alive and pick his teeth with your bones.”

“Yeah, sorry mate, but she’s right,” Ted said with an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know if it’s because he’s a wizard, but the cub’s bloody strong, stronger than he has any right to be, considering his relative youth.”

“Then Alice can stay,” Walden conceded, “but that’s it. She can train Tony, and together they can-”

Evey sighed heavily. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake. Walden, don’t be jealous-”

“How can I not be? You purposefully let me believe that he was gay!”

“Mate, calm down. I’m not after your woman,” Ted said soothingly.

“I don’t need your input on this matter, _mate_ ,” Walden snapped.

Tony observed the scene mutely. He wasn’t sure what to think. He’d never imagined Walden to be the jealous type – but then again, he’d never known Walden with a proper girlfriend, let alone with a wife. In Tony’s opinion, though, Evey shouldn’t have lied – or omitted the truth, same difference. He wasn’t about to say that out loud, however. It wasn’t his business. In fact, it wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs, and they shouldn’t be arguing in front of the others. “Um, guys… Maybe talk about it later?” He cocked his head toward Jeanne, who seemed to be enjoying all the drama.

Thankfully, everyone shut up for a moment. “How about this?” Tony went on. “Ted can patrol the area whenever he feels like it, because he’s more likely to pick up on Greyback if he returns, and Alice can stay for a few days and show me how to fight without magic. And maybe they can both teach Evey more about her own powers.” He paused, knowing what would come next.

“And what about me?” Jeanne said with a pout.

“You obviously already have some way to spy on us,” Tony replied flatly. “Just keep doing that. If something happens, you’ll know, and you can choose to help if you want.”

“And by the time I get here, it’ll be too late!” she countered. Tony noted that she didn’t deny his accusation. “I should be the one training you. No offence to Alice, but I’m the superior fighter.”

“No offence taken,” Alice said with the merest trace of sarcasm. “It’s true, but I’m the better teacher. I have this thing called _patience_ – surely you must know the word, spelled likewise in French, dearest daughter, even if you’ve never experienced it yourself.”

Oh, great. Were these two going to fight, too? “Jeanne, I appreciate your concern for me,” he said softly. “I really do.” His maker was a piece of work, but deep down, he didn’t think that Jeanne was a bad person, and she genuinely cared for him, that much was certain, although Tony would prefer it if she cared for Walden and Evey, too. “I know that you’re trying to help, even if it’s not immediately obvious to a casual observer. But you have to trust me: we’ve got this situation well in hand. I wasn’t joking about the spying – surveillance, whatever you call it.” He’d always been good at rubbing people up the right way. Jeanne should be no different. “I don’t approve, make no mistake, but I suppose that, given the circumstances, it might come in handy. You have my phone number, right? If you come across anything suspicious, give me a call, and I’ll come to pick you up right away. Deal?” She made no reply. “Jeanne, I’m really trying to be accommodating here…”

“Accommodating?” she scoffed. “Flattery and half-hearted apologies will get you nowhere, boy.” Apologies? He hadn’t apologised. Hell, he had nothing to apologise _for_. She really was trying his patience. Maybe Alice could lend him some. “You want to pretend that you’re not way in over your head, that you can handle that Wolfish monster on your own?” That was the opposite of what he’d said. He would gratefully accept any help from them. But Jeanne only heard what she wanted to hear, didn’t she? “If it weren’t for me, Greyback might have already recaptured the girl and killed you. If I hadn’t burned down her place-”

“Whoa, wait a second,” Walden cut in. “You did _what_?” Evey was gaping at Jeanne, struck speechless.

“Greyback had barely realised that she was gone that he already had her old house under constant watch!” Jeanne shouted. “He was waiting for you.”

“And you think we’d be stupid enough to visit the one place Greyback knew where to find her? That we’d blithely walk into an obvious trap?” Tony shouted right back. “Did it even occur to you to give us a heads up before…” He trailed off. This was surreal. She was fucking _insane_. “What did you say, earlier? In French?”

She stubbornly glowered at him, arms crossed over her chest.

“She wanted Evey to commit suicide, hoping that Greyback would die in the process,” Alice said quietly when no one else offered to translate. Jeanne threw her a look that seemed to convey both betrayal and annoyance. Evey exhaled slowly, but she didn’t look surprised, as though she’d expected nothing less.

It was exactly what Evey had been trying to imply, before they were interrupted, and Tony would not tolerate it. It wasn't up for discussion, and it never would be. “Get out,” Tony murmured. Jeanne scowled darkly, turning her one eye on him, but she didn’t move. When she didn’t comply, Tony addressed Evey. “Make her go away. This is your house. You know how.” Walden would likely have done it already, if he could – but he was dead, and the dead, for some magical, unfathomable reason, didn’t own anything. This was the Macnairs’ ancestral home, but Evey was now its sole living owner, thanks to their marriage contract.

“Don’t you fucking dare-!” Jeanne exclaimed.

Evey gave Walden a hesitant glance, and he nodded, their earlier quarrel apparently dismissed, at least for the time being. “Jeanne,” she enunciated with care, doing her best to pronounce the name correctly, “I rescind your invitation into this house. You are no longer welcome here.” It wouldn’t get her out of the property, but at least she’d be unable to get inside the house.

“ _Espèce de sale garce!_ ” That’s all Jeanne had time to yell before she was pulled away from the kitchen table and into the corridor, dragged by an invisible force. The door banged close a moment later, with Jeanne still cursing.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Alice said.

“Don’t tell me that you agree with her!” Tony said harshly. “I don’t want to banish you, too, Al.”

She shook her head. “I don’t agree, and I don’t approve of what she did to Evey’s childhood home. She didn’t discuss it with me beforehand. But we should have talked this through, instead of-”

“She’s beyond reasoning, Alice,” Tony said. “She crossed a line – no, several lines today. I don’t want her in my life. She’s toxic. She’s trying to ruin everything, and I won’t allow that.”

Alice opened her mouth, perhaps thinking that she could still somehow make excuses for Jeanne’s horrible behaviour, but Tony spoke over her. “You have to stop coddling her. You’re not doing her any favour. I know that she’s your progeny, that you care for her, but she needs to vastly improve her attitude, before she sets everyone against her.” Jeanne could probably still hear him, but knowing her, she wouldn’t heed his warning – not before it was too late.


	62. There's a bad moon on the rise

Blackbeard was slouching on the sofa when Walden walked into the living room. There was an empty cup of coffee on the table, a decimated pack of McVitie’s biscuits and an assortment of crumbs around it.

Evey was reading in her favourite armchair, by the hearth, where a fire was burning, even though no one in the house was bothered by the late February cold. Evey said it made the place more hospitable to their guest. Or guests, apparently.

Alice usually spent her days in the conservatory, studying the magical plants and herbs that grew there and experimenting with them. The “few days” she was supposed to remain at the manor had turned into weeks, but no one really minded. Walden had to admit that he felt safer with her in the house. Better to have two Ancients at hand than one, with Greyback lurking.

Ted, however, didn’t exactly live here – he just visited whenever he bloody felt like it, and that was a bit too often for Walden’s taste.

“What are you doing here?” Walden demanded.

The Wolf grinned at him. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. I was just scouting the area for Greyback and his cubs, and your wife kindly invited me in for a cup of coffee.”

This, Walden had already guessed. “But why are you _still_ here?” Evening had fallen, darkness settling in quickly. Ted had to know that Walden would be up soon.

Evey abandoned her book on the table after carefully marking her page and threw him a reproachful glare instead of a loving greeting. “Gods, you’re impossible.”

They hadn’t talked about Ted since Walden had discovered that he wasn’t gay, as Walden had initially assumed. They hadn’t talked about Walden’s supposedly unwarranted fit of jealousy. They probably should have but, truth be told, Walden wasn’t sure that he could explain it. That meant that he would have to apologise to Evey – _and_ Ted – for his reaction and supposedly rude behaviour of the past few weeks. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

The Wolf had (wisely) avoided being in the house when Walden was awake, until tonight. “This is really none of my business,” Ted began to say, clearly on the verge of making it his business, “but can you tell me exactly what I’m being accused of here? I never made a pass at your wife, you know. I never will. I may be a pirate at heart, but I have morals. I respect the proper etiquette regarding flirting with other people’s wives, which is simple enough: don’t do it.” He paused, waiting to see if Walden or Evey would like to contribute to his monologue, then went on when they didn’t. “I don’t see you getting upset about your brother living here, so why does it matter if I visit occasionally?”

Walden frowned in confusion. “What does my brother have to do with any of this?”

“Well, he’s…” Ted trailed off, looking at both of them in turn. Evey seemed equally mystified by Tony’s sudden appearance in the conversation. The Wolf cleared his throat. “Never mind. But Evey’s not jealous of Alice, right? Because she trusts you. Why won’t you trust her? I mean, wasn’t that part of your wedding vows or something?”

“I do trust her,” Walden protested.

“Then why the fuck are you jealous of everyone who talks to me?” Evey exclaimed.

“It’s not everyone,” Walden grumbled, before realising it was not the right thing to say. “I mean…I trust you, V. I just don’t trust _him_.” He guessed it was the reason, anyway. Had to be. Blackbeard had helped rescue Evey, sure, but…well, he was a Wolf, just like Greyback. Walden simply didn’t think he could ever fully trust one of them. He wasn’t about to try and explain that in front of Ted, however.

Evey’s face softened unexpectedly. She stood up and advanced toward Walden. “Look, I know you’ve had several nasty experiences with some of your previous girlfriends, but I’m not them, alright? I’m not a cheater. I’m not a gold-digger. I love you for who you are, Walden, not for your money or gigantic estate or noble, Pure-blood name and status.” She paused, then flashed him a teasing grin. “Though I do appreciate the extra benefits of being married to you.”

Walden smiled, somewhat hesitantly. Were they making up? He took a step forward and Evey hugged him tightly. “And I’ll have you know that if anyone dares make a pass at me, I will gut them myself. I’m a werewolf, remember?” she murmured, amusement seeping into her voice. Walden leaned down to kiss her.

After some time, Ted loudly faked a cough, and Walden was unpleasantly reminded that the Wolf was still in the room with them. “That’s dealt with, then,” Ted said with a sly grin. “Now, if you want to know why we were waiting for you to wake up, vampire, it’s because we wanted to talk to you about the next full moon, on Saturday.”

Walden let go of Evey reluctantly. She stood at his side, clinging to his good arm, instead of returning to her armchair. “What about it?” Walden asked warily.

“It’s going to be a blood moon, which means that even Wolves will have to transform.” Ted shrugged. “I think it’s safe to assume that it will affect Evey, too.”

“Um…ok.” Walden still wasn’t sure where they were going with this. Evey had transformed before; in fact, she did it quite regularly. She seemed to enjoy it a great deal. He glanced at her, and saw that she was chewing on her lip. “What am I missing? Is it about the mandrake leaf? It can wait until March, V.”

“Well, it’s a bother,” Evey concurred. “I could have started last month, and the potion would be almost ready by now.” She was seriously determined to become an Animagus, though Walden couldn’t figure out why she was so adamant about it. She could already turn into a werewolf, and she had more important things to learn besides.

Tony had been tutoring her in Occlumency, while Walden taught her how to Apparate and how to summon a Patronus. Ted was her werewolf mentor, so to speak, though what that entailed, precisely, Walden didn’t know. Alice had mostly focused on training Tony in hand-to-hand combat, Ancient-style, sometimes with Ted’s assistance, since he was a Wolf and therefore the perfect adversary. She’d also explained to Evey why she couldn’t possibly turn invisible while in werewolf form: despite Evey’s Ancient/Wolf duality, the two abilities simply weren’t meant to coexist.

As for Occlumency, Evey’s lessons were not going very well. Walden thought that Tony was being too hard on her, breaking through her mental shield easily and then showing her memories that sometimes left her sobbing and shaking, but he insisted that it was a necessary evil. If Voldemort – or, gods forbid, Greyback – decided to perform Legilimency on Evey, she had to be prepared for everything, for the very worst. She kept reliving her brother’s death, seeing Walden’s corpse, facing Greyback as he repeatedly stabbed her – or himself, with the same painful result.

Consequently, conjuring a solid Patronus was difficult. She had plenty of pleasant memories, and many things to be thankful and happy about right now, but the things she saw during her Occlumency sessions kept intruding. So far, she’d managed to produce a faint wisp of silvery smoke, which she found rather depressing.

The only thing Evey was even worse at than Occlumency was Apparition.

In Walden’s seventh year at Hogwarts, he’d taken Apparition lessons with some of his classmates, including Tony, and there had been this one kid who’d nearly splinched himself in half. The lessons had been cancelled after that, while the poor kid finished his school year at St Mungo.

The bad news: Evey was almost as bad at Apparition as that kid.

The good news: she regenerated very quickly. Walden hadn’t needed to reattach everything she’d lost – nails, eyebrows, hair, teeth, even a finger or two and part of her left ear. Each bit had regrown right away. Walden wondered if the fact that Evey knew she could sustain no permanent damage from splinching was causing her to (subconsciously?) not give it her best shot.

Irrelevantly, he’d also wondered if it meant that she could never get a haircut, since even her hair had grown right back after she’d splinched it.

Given these poor results, Walden had taught Evey how to drive instead. She was not too terrible at it – the car was still intact, anyway.

They also duelled on a daily basis. Evey was slowly improving her skills in that area. She was clearly not a natural, but she could defend herself, and cause some damage, too, at least when attacking Walden, who didn’t have Tony’s enhanced reflexes and magic-proof skin.

Becoming an Animagus, however, was a long and tortuous process. The first step consisted in holding a mandrake leaf in one’s mouth for an entire month, from full moon to full moon, then add it to a potion containing several ingredients that were relatively difficult to obtain. Walden still had some supplies dating from his own days as a wannabe Animagus, but not everything, so they’d had to postpone Evey’s “mandrake month” until the next full moon. She was obviously frustrated that she’d have to wait yet another four weeks before she could initiate the Animagus procedure.

“The potion can wait, V,” Walden said. “The dew would be difficult to harvest in the glacial cold anyway.” Then he frowned. “That’s not what you needed to talk to me about, is it?”

Evey shook her head and gestured to Ted. “As I was saying,” the Wolf explained, “the blood moon will force the change upon us. In itself, that’s not at all a problem, especially given this ideal location,” he went on, indicating the back of the house, in the general direction of the woods. Ted loved to run in the woods in wolf form as much as Evey did. “The thing is, this won’t be like the usual voluntary transformation. It will be for us like it is for any other werewolf – that is to say, it will hurt like hell.”

Walden swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Right. And…is there anything we can do to-”

“No,” Ted said before Walden could form a proper question. “There’s nothing to be done about it. Just have to suffer through it. Be thankful that it doesn’t happen often.”

“Wolfsbane?” Walden said hopefully. He didn’t have much in store – leftovers from his Warden days of arresting rogue werewolves – but he’d happily sacrifice what was left of it for Evey. They could always brew or purchase more.

“Won’t make any difference,” the Wolf replied. “Not with the blood moon. All werewolves will have to do this the hard way. I pity the new cubs who’ll have to transform for the first time that night.”

“I just…thought I should let you know beforehand,” Evey said in a low voice, tightening her grip on his arm. “So you don’t worry if I…scream, or…” She trailed off miserably. “What with your acute hearing and tendency to worry about nothing.”

An icy chill ran own Walden’s spine. It was hardly _nothing._ He was glad that they’d told him, but part of him almost wished they hadn’t. Now he would worry for certain, even if he knew why Evey was screaming in agony.

“Wouldn’t want you to think it was Greyback attacking or something,” Ted added.

“Will you still be able to control yourselves?” Walden asked. Werewolves usually didn’t prey on animals, magical or not, and they avoided the undead if they could, but… Well, the wards were designed to keep potential threats out. They wouldn’t keep two werewolves _in_ , and there was a Muggle village not too far from here.

“To an extent,” Ted said. “We won’t be as lucid as usual, but we can still rein in the urge to bite and devour humans, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The idea of Evey hunting defenceless Muggles and eating them was too weird and disturbing to dwell on. “As long as you’re sure about that, I suppose we’ll just have to suffer through it, as you said.”

* * *

Evey fell to the ground, completely drained of energy. She curled up in foetal position, shivering with exhaustion. The cold didn’t affect her, even now, even naked as she was, but she still felt like she ought to be freezing.

Unlike any other wound she’d suffered in the past year and a half, the physical pain caused by the forced transformation lingered. She felt like it would never go away.

She prayed to the gods that there would never be another blood moon, not while she lived. How did werewolves do it? How did they survive, suffering the change in all its painful horror every single month of their lives? She’d never felt such pity for Remus before. No wonder he chose to drink Wolfsbane, when he could afford it. It wasn’t weakness, as Greyback had implied; it was common sense.

And speaking of Greyback... Did the pain from his transformation impact her, did it make her own pain worse? She was glad to know that he'd suffered as much as she had that night, but if it was adding to her already unbearable torment...

She lost her train of thoughts for a moment, then became dimly aware of the sunlight that was slowly filtering through the trees. She was still in the woods – she didn’t think she could make it back to the house, not in her current condition. She would sleep here, in the cold dirt, and-

She heard someone laugh.

For a moment, disoriented by the pain, her brain reacted hysterically, latching onto the object of her last conscious thought: Greyback had found her. Either he’d made it through the wards, or Evey had somehow ran beyond them in her barely-lucid blood moon frenzy.

Her heart was racing in her chest; she couldn’t breathe. This was her nightmare come true: she was going to have to make a run for it, through the woods, while Greyback gave chase-

Then Ted’s face appeared above her. “Well, you don’t look so bad, all things considered. I remember my first-”

Evey broke down in tears in sheer relief.

“Aw, I’m sorry, doll. Did I scare you? I understand, believe me. It’s enough to fray anyone’s nerves, this curse, eh? Never figured out how the cubs survive it. It’s no wonder there’s such a high rate of deaths during the first transformation.” Ted crouched down and pulled her into his arms. At that moment, in spite of everything, Evey’s first reflection was that Walden would try to kill Ted, if he realised that he’d seen her naked, and touched her besides. She didn’t have the strength to protest, though. Walden was already asleep, anyway. Hopefully he’d never find out about this. “Let’s get you into bed, yeah? Then I’ll fall into a near-coma in that fancy sofa of yours, if you don’t mind. Bloody blood moon took a toll on me, too.” He chuckled softly.

“I’ll take her,” someone else said. _Tony_ , Evey’s brain realised a moment later. Gods, she was tired. She felt her body change hands. They were handling her as though she weighed nothing. Tony wrapped her in a blanket, and his arms tightened around her protectively. “Is she alright?” he asked, voice full of concern. “Why is she crying?”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s a fairly normal reaction. She’ll be fine, she just needs to rest.”

Tony began walking and whispering to her soothingly, but Evey barely heard him. She was fast asleep by the time they reached the house.

* * *

“Is Evey still asleep?” Alice asked as she walked into the garage, where Tony had once again established his workshop. Fergus, Walden’s father, had cleared some space for him here when Tony was a kid.

He was nearly finished with his project, but he quickly hid it from view when Alice approached his desk. He didn’t want anyone to see it before it was done. Alice scowled at him, but she made no remark.

“She is. I’ve never heard anyone snore so loudly in my life,” Tony said. “And I slept across from Bellatrix Lestrange’s cell for fourteen years.”

Alice cocked her head sideways, seemingly listening to something far away. “Wait. That’s _Evey_? I thought it was the Wolf!”

Tony chuckled. “Ted’s been up for two hours. Emptied the fridge. Caraid must have been afraid for his life.”

“Good gods,” Alice murmured. “It’s probably a good thing that you turned Walden – only a sleeping vampire could withstand the noise.”

“It’s not always that bad,” Tony said affectionately. “But yeah.” He glanced at her. “Is it alright if we skip training today? I’d like to wrap this up tonight.” He pointed at the canvas-covered object he’d concealed when Alice had walked in.

“Actually, we won’t be training anymore. I’m leaving, Tony.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t going to say ‘ _about time’_ , because despite the fact that she’d extended her stay at the manor, having Alice here had been rather nice. She'd kept Tony company during the day, she was not an invasive guest, as Ted sometimes could be, and she’d greatly helped him improve his fighting skills besides. She’d even taught them some Muggle herbalism. “Is there a particular reason for your sudden departure?”

Alice nodded. “Jeanne came by this morning, while you were…keeping an eye on Evey.” Tony had watched her sleep for a few hours. It wasn’t creepy. He was just worried about her. She’d looked so frail and vulnerable that morning, in the woods.

“Something’s come up?”

“I just…I should spend some time with her, I think. To make sure she’s alright. Oh, and she gave me this.” She took a small key out of her pocket, and a folded sheet of paper. “The key opens a storage container in Fort William. Apparently, she had most of Evey’s belongings moved out of her house before she burnt it down.”

Tony stared at her. “Why didn’t she say anything before?” Not that it would have made her deed any less crazy, but Evey would certainly have liked to know this weeks ago.

“Because she was angry with you and Evey, I surmise,” Alice said with a shrug. “You did rescind her invitation,” she reminded him.

“Jeanne’s always angry about something,” Tony muttered.

“Anyway. The address is on the paper, and there’s also a list of blood suppliers and voluntary donors in your area.”

“Donating blood is illegal.” Ancients couldn’t be affected by blood diseases, unlike mere vampires, but…well, it was still illegal. And Tony would much prefer not to feed directly at the source, in any case.

Alice rolled her eyes. “The suppliers usually sell fresh-enough blood, if you truly have a problem with biting people. It’s either that, or feeding off Evey,” she said sternly. “And I doubt you want that. We can’t provide for you forever, Tony.”

“I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I’m not the one you should thank.”

“Look, I appreciate that Jeanne at least removed Evey’s stuff from the house before destroying it for no reason, but come on, Al. It was an insane thing to do. I can’t thank her for it. And it’s a relief to have a way of procuring blood but, frankly…that’s an information you should have given me the moment I woke up as an Ancient.” For all their welcoming parties and boring crash courses in history, they hadn’t given him what he actually needed to survive – or not go raving mad, anyway. That was just plain bad parenting.

Alice pursed her lips. “She’s right, you _are_ an ungrateful brat.” Tony was about to voice a protest, but she waved it away. “You’re also correct, but still.”

He gave her a smug smile, and she returned him a fond one, all the while shaking her head in disapproval. “It’s impossible to stay mad at you,” she went on. “I don’t know how Jeanne does it.” She patted his arm lightly. “I will miss you, fledgling, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Pass on my goodbyes to Evey and Walden, will you? And thank them for their hospitality.”

“I will. Say hi to…” He hesitated. “Tell Jeanne I’m sorry for the way we handled the situation. But what she did was wrong, and what she _said_ was very, very wrong. She won’t be welcome here for a long time, knowing Walden, but…” He shrugged, ruffling his hair. “Just tell her I don’t hate her, please? Even if she is overbearing and crazy and dogged and-”

“Why don’t you tell her yourself? You have her phone number.”

Tony eyed at the phone on the desk. “Yeah, maybe I will.”

* * *

The prosthesis was done.

It looked fucking badass, if Tony did say so himself. He’d fabricated it out of sycamore, the same wood used to make Walden’s favourite wand, and he’d carved all sorts of magical enchantments upon it. The core was a Thestral tail hair – the only thing at Tony’s disposal here at the estate, but it was said to work just as well as unicorn hairs or dragon heartstrings.

The prosthesis could be moved like a flesh arm, hand and fingers included. It couldn’t catch fire, couldn’t be detached unless at its owner’s command, and it could be used to cast magic, just like a regular wand. Tony had taken the expression "wand arm" to a whole new level.

He was quite pleased with himself, he had to admit. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of replacing missing body parts with wand wood in the hope that it could be employed like a wand, but this was the first prototype ever made, as far as he knew.

And, as a convicted Death Eater on the run, he could never claim credit for it.

But that was alright. At least Walden would have a proper arm once again. Evey should be happy about it, too.

That was all that mattered.


	63. Let not light see my black and deep desires

“Alright, we’ll be in touch, Eurion. _Diolch yn fawr_ _iawn_.”

Walden disconnected the call and put the phone on the kitchen table. Evey glanced up from her book – a rather thick novel called _A Game of Thrones_. She seemed quite invested in it. “Well? Will the Swansea pack join the Order?”

Walden shrugged. “Same answer as usual – only if we can protect them from Greyback and Voldemort.”

That was indeed a recurrent concern among the Alphas. The only one who’d agreed to join their cause unconditionally was the leader of the Belfast pack. Unfortunately, there were only seven werewolves under the command of Darius Gallagher, two of them wizards.

Still…it was better than nothing.

Recruitment among the werewolf population of Great Britain was going comparatively better than among the vampires. Tracking them down was difficult enough, especially from the manor, and the few undead they’d contacted had either turned them down or hadn’t bothered to reply at all.

Following these disheartening results, they’d decided to reach out to part-vampires. They’d had a few encouraging responses; so far, a dozen witches and wizards had joined their ranks. To be fair, Greyback was unlikely to give them trouble, if he ever found out about it. Greyback believed that he was better than Voldemort, but deep down he was just as contemptuous of the people he thought to be inferior to him, or to werewolves in general. Vampires and part-vampires belonged in that category. They simply weren’t worth his time.

All in all, they weren’t doing so bad. Less than four months had gone by since their first official meeting with the Order, and they’d been the most successful at recruiting allies. During the last meeting, a week ago, they’d learned that Remus hadn’t made any major progress with his adoptive pack, and that instead of gaining new allies at the Ministry, Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt seemed to have lost several in the past few months.

“Wal…” Evey said hesitantly. “It’s been two months since we saw Greyback, and he hasn’t resurfaced. Do you think maybe we could…visit the storage facility Alice told us about?”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea, V,” he replied apologetically. “Just because we can’t see him, doesn’t mean he’s not around.”

“Ted assured me that he hadn’t spotted anyone. I know you don’t fully trust him,” she said with a faint trace of reproach, “but he has no reason to lie about this. He doesn’t like Greyback anymore than we do.”

“We’ve been through this, V. Doesn’t matter if he likes him or not; Greyback is family to him. Like…Tony is hardly fond of Jeanne, but if anything happened to her, he’d be devastated.” That was the best analogy he could think of, and it was nothing but the truth.

Now that he’d had some time to get used to Ted’s near-omnipresence around the house, Walden had realised that he’d been wrong about the Wolf. He was a good person, and he truly seemed to consider Evey as a friend, nothing more. He’d watched over her during the blood moon, and Evey had survived the night unscathed. Walden had apologised to both of them for his…misjudgement. But the fact remained that Walden knew better than most wizards how strong pack connection could be, how much it meant to werewolves and, like it or not, Greyback and Ted were pack. Evey ought to know this, given the time she'd spent with Greyback's pack.

And speaking of Blackbeard, there he was again.

Having him around was not as pleasant as having Alice as a guest; Ted was loud, he had no respect for personal space, and he cared little about privacy. He also randomly yelled things like _Shiver me timbers_ or _All hands hoay_.

And yet Evey didn’t seem to mind. Therefore, Walden had no choice but to accept that this was his life, now. At least until they dealt with Greyback, one way or another.

Ted walked into the kitchen as though he owned the place. Nana barked happily when she saw him; Walden sometimes wondered if she liked the Wolf better than him because Ted was alive. Ted gave Walden a teeth-rattling slap on the back, then ruffled Evey’s hair, before helping himself to some coffee. “How’s it going, lovebirds?”

“No luck with Swansea,” Evey reported. “No luck with convincing my husband to go to the storage container, either,” she added without looking at Walden.

“Well, I would strongly advise against it,” Ted said.

“Why?” Evey said with a pout. “There’s been no sighting of Greyback. You said so yourself.”

“No, but according to his second, he’s keeping watch.”

The statement left Walden staring at the Wolf, and Evey gaping. She recovered from her shock first. “Wait…you saw Scabior? You _talked_ to him?”

“Uh-huh. Hey, don’t give me that look, bloodsucker. I only just found out.” He sat down next to Evey. “I think he wanted me to catch him. Wanted to let you know that he and the pack were doing fine.” Evey sighed in relief. “Also wanted to know how you were doing, though he wasn’t straightforward about it.”

“What did you…do to him?” Walden asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just chased him off. I did ask if someone was watching the place, though, and he said no, not _someone_ , but Greyback magically monitors your comings and goings, somehow. That’s why I must agree with Walden: it’s not safe for you out there, doll.”

Doll. How could Evey possibly accept that someone call her _doll_? Sure, Tony still occasionally called her ridiculous pet names, but he was just messing around. Ted meant it unironically, Walden was certain. Well, it bothered Walden to have to side with the Wolf, but if it kept Evey alive… “Guess that’s settled, then. I’m sorry, love, I really am, but it’s in your best interest.”

Evey groaned and let her head fall on her arms. “I’m so sick of being confined here.”

“Hey,” Walden said gently. “I know it’s frustrating, V, but you’ll have to suffer it a while longer, alright?” She grumbled indistinctly in reply.

“I know what’ll cheer you up,” Ted said. “That storm you were desperately waiting for, so you can complete that silly Animagus ritual? It’s coming soon.”

Evey did look up at that, a slow smile spreading on her face. She’d just spent an entire month with a mandrake leaf in her mouth, only removing it two days ago – Merlin be praised, she’d finally brushed her teeth – and they’d managed to gather all the ingredients needed for the potion, but now she had to wait for an electric storm to drink it. In truth, if Ted was right, she was luckier than Walden. He’d had to wait five months before he could consume his potion.

That had been on his third try to complete the ritual. The first time, he’d accidentally swallowed the mandrake leaf in his sleep – and nearly choked on it – and had to start over. Then, after finally brewing the potion, he’d forgotten to say the incantation _Amato Animo Animato Animagus_ once at sunrise, and had to go through everything yet again. That was mainly what had taken him so long to master the ability. To be fair, he’d done it all on his own, without help.

“Now that’s a great birthday present,” Evey said gleefully.

It was late April, and they’d been discussing birthday presents for nearly a month now, though if he was being honest, Walden had already received his in advance, despite Tony’s insistence that it was only natural that he should have a prosthesis for his missing forearm. The enchanted object worked like a charm. Walden could move it just as well as his right arm, and he could cast magic with it besides. Count on Tony to think of something so absolutely crazy and brilliant.

When Evey had asked Tony what he wanted for his birthday, he’d assured them that he didn’t need anything. “How about…a stripper popping out of a birthday cake?” Evey had suggested. Tony had mumbled that he couldn’t eat cake. “You can eat the stripper,” Evey had replied slyly.

In the end, they’d asked Ted to purchase some human blood for him – enough to last him several years, so that he wouldn’t have to worry about getting supplies. Evey and Walden knew how much Tony hated to deal with the blood himself, no matter how he acquired it. The blood could be kept magically fresh indefinitely, and stored in the garage.

Apparently, Evey and Tony had already found a present for Walden, though he didn’t know what it was. Truth be told, he didn’t really need anything, either – nothing except a way to break the physical connection that linked his wife to Greyback.

As for Evey… Walden couldn’t give her any of the things she wanted. He really wished he could give her access to her family’s belongings, but it was simply too risky, especially with what Scabior had just told Ted. He’d hoped to take her somewhere nice for their honeymoon, but the problem remained the same. They already had a domestic pet, not to mention the magical creatures that inhabited the woods behind the house. Evey didn’t care much for jewellery, clothes or perfume. Tony claimed that he had something for her – some enchanted trinket, Walden was willing to bet; his brother spent most of his time in his workshop, even now that the prosthesis was done.

“What will happen when I drink the potion?” Evey asked him, interrupting his train of thoughts.

“You’ll transform for the first time. It will determine your Animagus.”

“A vixen.” When Walden had detailed the full ritual required to become an Animagus, Evey had been surprised to learn that she wouldn’t decide of the animal herself, just like Walden hadn’t chosen to be a bear; he liked his animal avatar well enough, but something more discreet would have been nice. For some reason, Evey was persuaded that she would turn into a fox. The fact that her Patronus had turned out to be a fox – which she’d at last been able to produce barely two weeks ago – had only comforted her in that idea. Walden was worried that she’d be disappointed if she changed into anything else.

But he didn’t contradict her. There was no point. She was too stubborn.

“But what I meant,” Evey continued, “was: will it hurt? Like…when the blood moon forced the werewolf transformation on Ted and me?”

Walden hesitated. He hadn’t thought so far ahead. “It’s…not a pleasant sensation. Depending on the animal you’ll turn into,” – Evey gave him a flat stare – “your body will either expand or shrink, but I understand that neither option is painless. On the contrary. But that being said,” he went on, “it’s only truly painful the first time. It gets easier afterwards, the more you do it.”

Evey remained silent for a moment. Walden wondered if she would reconsider, though he’d already told her, several times, that becoming an Animagus was a difficult, painful process, and she hadn’t appeared to mind. Maybe the blood moon had changed her mind, or lowered her tolerance for pain, somehow. Eventually, she smiled. “Still less painful than a letter opener in the liver, I’ll wager.”

Walden winced at her casualness. Evey hadn’t given him all the details of her captivity at Asgard, but he’d heard about _that_ part. “If you say so.” Walden had suffered many injuries in the past, but he’d never been stabbed in the liver before.

Evey turned her attention to Ted, who was petting Nana. “Did Scabior say anything else? Any clue as to where Greyback relocated the pack?”

The Wolf shook his head. “I asked, but he either wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me.”

“Wherever it is, the place must be warded like Asgard used to be,” Evey said, sounding somewhat disappointed but unsurprised. “But the most important thing is that everyone is alive and well. Couldn’t have lived with myself if Greyback had hurt or killed any of them.”

“Don’t say that,” Walden chided her. “If he’d done anything of the sort, it wouldn’t be your fault, V.”

“I can’t help but feel responsible for them,” she admitted. “Most of them are so innocent, no matter their age. They just don’t know any better. They believe that Greyback is their messiah, their saviour. If I’d managed to break through his influence on them, to convince them to leave with me…”

“Then they’d all be dead,” Ted said bluntly. “Unless you were willing to welcome them all here at the estate.” From Evey’s expression, Walden could tell that she would have, without hesitation. Without seeking Walden’s opinion, either. “I think you worked their minds a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” the Wolf went on. “I mean, Scabior risked his hide just to let you know that they were safe.” He sighed. “But if they’d deserted, Greyback would have hunted each and every one of them until they were all dead. You planted the seeds; now they must free themselves, somehow. They will bide their time, and seize the opportunity for liberation when it presents itself.”

“I guess you’re right,” Evey said reluctantly. She glanced at the clock. “Where’s Tony? Still in the garage?”

“Well, he practically lives there now,” Walden said. He had a vague feeling that Tony was distancing himself from them. He wondered if his brother was somehow jealous of Ted, of how much time he spent with Evey. Maybe he felt a bit excluded. All the more reason for the Wolf to give them all some space. “We should watch a movie together tonight,” he suggested. “The three of us,” he added with a emphatic glance at Ted.

Evey seemed to catch his meaning. “Good idea. Ted…”

“Yeah, no worries. There’s something I need to do, anyway.” He stood and stretched, yawning loudly. “And by ‘something’, I mean sleep in an actual bed. I’ll try that quaint little inn in the village. Call me if something comes up, alright?” Evey nodded, and he departed.

Silence fell in the kitchen, stretching on for several minutes. “Merlin’s lacy knickers,” Walden murmured. “It’s so quiet and peaceful, all of a sudden.”

Evey chuckled. “I know, right?” She picked up her book. “Let me finish this chapter, then we can fire up the telly.”

“I’ll go get Tony,” Walden said. Knowing his wife, she would be lost in her fantasy universe by the time he reached the door. When he looked over his shoulder, she didn’t even notice that Nana was licking her hand in an appeal for attention.

* * *

Tony eyed his phone for the hundredth time that day, for the billionth time since Alice had suggested giving Jeanne a call. He’d started writing several text messages. He’d gone as far as to dial Jeanne’s number.

And he’d chickened out at the last moment, every single time.

He didn’t feel angry at her anymore. He just…he had no idea what to tell her. Sorry for rescinding your invitation, despite the fact that you suggested sacrificing my best friend’s life to accommodate yours? Sorry for yelling at you, although you did burn down her childhood house without a warning, without a valid reason? Sorry for not keeping in touch, even if you turned me into an immortal, indestructible, guilt-ridden, blood-drinking monster without my consent?

Ah, the familiar sensation of self-loathing. It felt almost…comforting. It was certainly better than unreciprocated love, and the mindless horror at the possibility of ever being exposed.

“I’ll call her for you, if you want,” Walden said.

Tony startled. He could hear them moving about in the house if he paid attention, but when his mind was wandering, he could be spooked like anyone else. _Calm down, idiot. He looks at you suspiciously enough already._ Or was Tony being paranoid? Walden and Evey didn’t know, did they? Ted knew. Alice knew. Jeanne most definitely knew. Either they were all very perceptive, or it was written all over Tony’s face. But if Walden and Evey knew, they would have mentioned it, wouldn’t they? They would have kicked him out. Banished him from their lives.

One thing Tony was thankful for, in his present condition, was that he could neither blush nor sweat. That would have given him away, if nothing else already had. As it were, Tony simply stopped fidgeting with his phone and smiled at his brother. “So you can tell her to stay away forever?”

Walden didn’t return his smile. “I don’t understand why you’re so eager to make peace with her, after everything she’s said and done, but she’s your maker. I guess it’s important to you. I will call her and…apologise, if that’s what you think we should do.”

“Hell no,” Tony said hastily. “We definitely shouldn’t do that. It’s just…well, we were tasked with recruiting allies, and Jeanne…would make a powerful ally, if she could be…controlled.” The very idea was laughable, but it had to be said. “She’ll never agree to assist you hapless mortals, though. Me, sure. But no one else.” Jeanne didn’t understand that Tony would die a hundred times rather than watch Evey get hurt or captured again. “I just don’t know how to convince her that helping _me_ begins with helping the rest of you.” Mostly Evey, really. She was in as much danger from Greyback as Harry Potter was from Voldemort, if not more. Voldemort, at least, could be killed. Perhaps not as easily as the Order would like, but it was feasible. It had to be. Finding out exactly how he’d survived the first time would probably be helpful, but Tony was more interested in finding a way around the Evey-Greyback connection. Let Dumbledore handle the Dark Lord, or at least manipulate Harry into doing it.

“Any Ancient would be a powerful ally,” Walden pointed out. “And some of the others might actually _want_ to help just for the sake of it. I know we told the Order that-”

“That they’d kill us all if they found out that we outed them? Yeah, they will. Make no mistake, Wal. Gorgo and Imhotep may look tame compared to Jeanne, but they believe in secrecy as much as the others. And they will protect that secrecy at all costs.” In truth, he’d been terrified that Alice would somehow find out while she was living here.

Ted already knew that Evey had revealed the existence of the Wolves to Greyback’s pack, but he didn’t seem to mind. Tony believed that Ted's comrades wouldn’t be too happy about it, though. Ted was an exception among his kind. They were lucky to have him on their side, but Tony doubted that it would be much help, if the other Wolves came looking for justice and blood. They didn’t seem to have a high opinion of Ted, and likely wouldn’t listen to him.

“You know what?” Tony said, pocketing his phone. “Jeanne can wait. We’re both immortal; we’ll make up when I don’t have so much on my plate. We should be focusing on Evey, on getting rid of her connection with Greyback, don’t you think?”

Walden nodded approvingly. “I like the idea, but where do we even begin? Evey said that Greyback was researching the situation, that it’s likely why he was gone for so long, but if he’d discovered anything relevant, the connection would be gone by now.”

Tony considered it, and an unpleasant thought struck him. “Maybe he does know how, but he needs Evey to remove it.” He hesitated, scratching his hair absently. “Maybe we should…ask him.”

Walden stared at him, dumbfounded. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean…Greyback obviously wants the connection gone as much as we do, right? Shouldn’t we, um, work together to try to find a solution, maybe?”

“Work together. With Greyback,” Walden repeated, his voice as flat as a robot’s. His brain couldn’t process the concept. “Are you out of your bloody mind?” he exclaimed after a pause.

“We could talk with the ward between us,” Tony said quickly.

“I would sooner welcome Jeanne as a permanent house guest than negotiate with that…monster,” Walden growled.

“Alright, alright, it was just an idea,” Tony said defensively. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Wal.”

“We’re not _that_ desperate,” his brother went on. “And Evey would never agree to it anyway. She’d hate you for even suggesting this.”

Tony stood very still, feeling faint. “You…won’t tell her about it, right?”

“Of course not. I don’t want her to be miserable and angry with you. But next time,” Walden warned him, “think before you speak.”


	64. It is a lonely burden to be the one tasked with doing the right thing

Tony waited until he heard Evey began to snore before stepping outside.

It was a clouded, rainy morning in early June. The weather reflected Tony’s gloomy mood perfectly, but it did not hinder his determination to do what he’d set out to do that day, while Walden and Evey were safely asleep inside the house.

He had no idea where Ted was. He simply hoped that the Wolf wouldn’t interfere.

Or Jeanne, for that matter. Tony was under the impression that she hadn’t gone very far after Evey had forced her to leave the manor in January. He often felt like he was being observed, like an invisible presence was lurking in the shadows. But maybe he was just being paranoid.

He walked toward the edge of the warded area around the estate and contemplated the fine line in the ground where he’d marked the border. He inhaled deeply, in a fruitless attempt to settle his nerves.

He’d deliberated for weeks, ever since he’d mentioned the idea to Walden. He still didn’t know if it was madness or a necessary risk. If it was the right thing to do or not. What he did know was that it was better if no one ever found out about it, in case it resulted in complete catastrophe.

He took a step forward, over the line. And waited.

As he’d expected, it didn’t take long. Seven minutes later – he kept glancing at his watch nervously every five seconds – Greyback Apparated a few meters away from where he stood. Tony hastily returned within the warded confines of the estate and waited for the Wolf to approach.

Greyback was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, partially unbuttoned at the top, with dark trousers and casual shoes. He had his hands in his pockets, and he advanced nonchalantly, a smug sneer on his face. Like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Like he’d anticipated this.

“Bloodsucker,” he said in way of greeting as he neared the spot where Tony was standing.

Tony ignored the jab. “How are you monitoring everything we do?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Greyback grinned, showing the tip of his filed teeth. “A wizard never reveals his secrets.”

Fair enough. Tony hadn’t really expected an answer, but Greyback usually liked to brag, so it was worth a shot. “Have you found a way to break your connection to Evey?” he asked without further ado.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” the Wolf said cheerfully. “But, you see, to be able to do it, I need her. Are you willing to surrender her to me?”

Tony frowned. “You’re lying.”

Greyback snorted. “Of course I’m lying. If I truly needed her, I would have worked harder on disabling these irksome wards. For now, I think it’s best that she remain here, away from any potential threat to her life.”

“ _You_ are the threat to her life,” Tony snapped, then mentally scolded himself. He had to keep his cool. “Look,” he went on more calmly, “we want the same thing, Greyback. Why don’t we work together to find a solution?”

Greyback eyed him with a knowing smile. “Your little friends have no idea that you’re meeting with me, do they?” It wasn’t really a question. “The vampire is unconscious for the day, and I assume that Evangeline has adapted to his sleep schedule by now, since they’re married.” _Evangeline_. Hearing Greyback call Evey by her full name was incredibly disturbing, for some reason. “You’re going behind their backs, you treacherous little weasel. Haven’t changed a bit, have you, Dolohov?”

Greyback seemed to know everything there was to know about them. Was there a spy in their midst? Walden didn’t entirely trust Ted, and there was Jeanne… But she had no reason to ally with Greyback; she despised the Wolf as much as they did. A mole within the Order, perhaps? Snape was a double agent, but whose side was he really on? Even if he served Dumbledore, he had to feed Voldemort regular, valid information to allay suspicion.

Merlin, he really was paranoid. Greyback had that effect on people. “Be that as it may,” Tony said, trying to keep his voice steady, “my proposition makes sense.”

Greyback shrugged indifferently. “I’m not that desperate. Unlike you,” he added with an unpleasant leer.

 _We’re not that desperate_. That was exactly what Walden had told him, over a month ago. It briefly made Tony reconsider the whole thing. “Do you have any clue at all? Did you find anything relevant in your travels, or-”

“Why should I tell you?” Greyback interrupted him. “If I knew anything, I would keep it to myself, Fangs. I’d wait until Evangeline is mine again, and I would deal with her as I see fit.”

“Stop calling her that!” Tony hissed.

His vehemence seemed to take the Wolf slightly aback. “Why? It’s her name. What else should I call her? Mysterious hybrid girl? It’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“Don’t call her at all,” Tony said. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t be so confident. Do you really believe that we’d let her out of our sight even for a second? You’ll never have her, Wolf. You’ll never see her again, never touch her again.”

Greyback threw his head back and laughed. “That would be a shame, alright. Evangeline is so very delicious.” Now he was just saying her name to taunt Tony. “And so wild in bed,” he added with malicious delight.

There was a minute of complete silence, only broken by a couple of thrushes chirping in a nearby tree. Tony’s mind was a maelstrom of emotions. Evey had never mentioned… _No. He’s lying. He must be._ But Evey had been rather close-mouthed about her captivity… _He’s trying to get under your skin._ “That’s not… That didn’t happen.”

“Believe what you will. Did Evangeline mention disclosing your name to me, and how it happened?”

She _had_ mentioned it. She’d confessed to Tony. How Greyback had been determined to get the newest Ancient’s name. She’d admitted to being tortured before she finally gave in…but she hadn’t specified what _sort_ of torture. “Shut up! I know you’re lying.” There was an edge of desperation to his tone, but he couldn’t help it.

“I see that Evangeline wasn’t forthcoming with details of the time she spent in my company,” Greyback said jubilantly. He’d found Tony’s weak spot, and he wouldn’t let go.

This was a disaster. Had Tony really imagined that anything good would come out of this? Walden was right. This was crazy. Wrong. Stupid. “Go away,” he growled. “We’ll find a way around your connection, with or without your help.”

“Mm. Personally, I’m not in a hurry to find a remedy,” Greyback said. “I feared that our connection might be a threat to my life but…well, let’s just say that a physical bond such as the one we share has its benefits, in certain situations.” He laughed again at the look on Tony’s face. “I _will_ get her back, Batboy. I will recover what’s rightfully mine. I bit her. She belongs to me, she belongs _with_ me. The first female werewolf in history, and a powerful one at that. She can do much better than that stinking vampire. She _deserves_ better, and once she realises it, we will rule the world together. I will be king, and she will be my queen. She will bear my children.”

Tony stood speechless during the ramblings of the delusional Wolf. Merlin, and he’d thought that _Jeanne_ was crazy. “Evey hates you.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“She does now, perhaps. But she’ll come around. It’s meant to be.” He sounded like some fanatical bigot talking about the second coming of Merlin. His grey eyes were bright with passion.

“She’s terrified of you,” Tony went on. “She’d rather die, knowing it would kill you, than serve you.”

Greyback cocked his head sideways, his mirth fading. “No, she wouldn’t do that,” he said slowly. “She may have a high threshold for pain, higher than I gave her credit for, but she has strong instincts of self-preservation all the same. Though I’m glad to hear that she’s terrified of me,” he added with satisfaction and renewed amusement.

“What are you doing?” someone asked from behind Tony. A male voice. It couldn’t be Walden, so it had to be Ted. _Shit_. Greyback must have seen him coming a long way, and had kept Tony busy until Ted was close enough to hear everything. He wanted to cause dissension.

Tony turned around, but not completely. He was reluctant to expose his back to Greyback. “Ted, I can explain-”

“Hey, grandpa,” Greyback said with mock cheerfulness.

Blackbeard ignored him. “What the hell are you doing, fledgling?” he repeated.

“I just…I thought…” Tony stammered. “I was hoping that…” Ted was usually even-tempered and jovial, but the thunderous look on his face made Tony recoil.

“Are you bloody stupid?” Ted asked again when Tony didn’t produce a satisfying answer to his previous question.

“You know what’s stupid?” Greyback said idly. “Falling in love with your brother’s wife.”

Tony gaped at him. So many people knew already. Too many. But they were people he believed would keep it to themselves; Greyback was another matter.

“Oh, shut up, you son of a biscuit eater,” Ted said, without looking at Greyback. “Boy, you’d better get back inside now, before I let your brother know what you did. You can imagine how he will react, yes?”

“Ted,” Tony said pleadingly. “You can’t tell Walden, alright? You can’t tell Evey. I was just trying to help, and-”

Ted made a shooing motion at him. “Off with you!” he barked.

* * *

Ted glared at the cub for a full minute before realising that it had no effect on Greyback. He wasn’t as easily fazed as the Ancient youngling.

“Long time no see,” Greyback said pleasantly, though there was more than a trace of disdain in his voice. “I’m sorry I was absent when you last paid me a visit. You should have called. We would have had some tea and-”

“No,” Ted said roughly. “ _I’m_ sorry. I wish I’d known you existed before Grigori had a chance to brainwash you. Or to turn you, for that matter. You’re as mentally unstable as he was, and that’s saying something.” He sighed wistfully. “You had potential. He saw that in you. But he used you for his own purpose, to serve his own interests. You could have truly helped them, these cubs you pretend to care so much about, if your soul hadn’t been blackened by that flaming demon spawn.”

Greyback chuckled. “As melodramatic as ever, I see.” His expression darkened. “You will pay for your betrayal, Blackstripes.” He said Ted’s Wolf name with contempt and anger. “You did nothing when they banished Grigori. You _stole_ from me. I will have my revenge, you old fool,” he gnarled. “You can’t keep Evangeline safe forever. She’s too stubborn for that.” Without another word, he vanished – Disapparated, Ted assumed.

He stared blankly at the empty spot for a moment, wondering what to do. Evey and Walden would be asleep for hours yet – it was late spring, and the sun set late, these days. Evey usually rose earlier than her husband, but Ted still had hours to decide what to do about the fledgling. Should he rat him out? Was it really worth all the chaos that would ensue, all the drama?

Had Tony caused any real harm?

“Leave him be,” a voice said at his side. “The girl has scrambled his brains. He can’t tell right from wrong anymore. Or, more accurately, smart from dumb.”

Ted had heard her approach. He’d _smelled_ her; she was never far. She rarely interfered directly, however, and never let her presence be known to the others. She didn’t make herself visible, in case Tony was looking in their direction, Ted assumed, but there was no need. Ted knew where she was, and he knew her height and approximately where her face should be. “ _Bonjour_ , _Jeanne_.”

“Don’t tell the others," she continued, ignoring his greeting. "Don’t make his life any worse than it already is.” It sounded more like a command than a suggestion. Jeanne muttered in French, speaking too fast for Ted to make out most of the words. He only caught parts of it: “… _cette putain de gamine, quelle fouteuse de merde… Sérieusement, comment peut-on être aussi aveugle?”_

 _That fucking girl, what a nuisance. Seriously, how can people be so blind?_ Yeah, she had a point there. Walden and his wife were completely oblivious to Tony’s mad crush on Evey. But the blindest people were the ones who kept their eyes closed, right? “That’s really none of our business. They’ll deal with it in their own time. What about Greyback? Is there no way to follow him? With one of your hired magicians or something?”

He couldn’t see her, but he could picture her expression just the same: a bitter grimace, her one eye glowering at him. “If it were possible, I wouldn’t be wasting my time here talking to you, would I? I’d be on my way to execute the fiend myself.”

“Hey now,” Ted said chidingly. “No killing, remember?” While he disapproved of what Greyback had done to Evey and her family, and of his involvement with that ridiculous ‘Dark Lord’, Ted had to admit, like he’d said earlier, that Greyback could have been a great leader of wolves, if Grigori’s influence hadn’t lingered after his banishment. Greyback was charismatic. He was cunning. He had a vision – but then again, Grigori used to have a vision, too. They had taken it too far. They didn’t want to improve the lives of werewolves; they wanted to exterminate all other races and rule over the ashes of the world.

Ted, optimistic by nature, still held a faint glimmer of hope that Greyback could be saved, that he would see the error of his ways and redeem himself. His hope was becoming thinner by the day, though, especially after seeing him just then.

But Ted didn’t want him dead. Losing Grigori had been hard enough. For all his failings, Grigori had been _his_ cub. Ted had bitten his fair share of mortal werewolves in his time, but Grigori was the only true Wolf he would ever turn. And now he was gone. Ted had no idea what had happened to him – he hadn’t lied to Alice about that. The others had excluded him from the trial, and from whatever took place afterwards. Since then, Ted was held in contempt of his…pack, if it still could be called that. It was surprising enough that they’d invited him to the meeting requested by the Bloodmother in November, but he suspected that it was just a matter of tactics. They’d been vastly outnumbered, even with Ted there.

“What’s your problem with Evey, anyway?” he asked after a moment. “Besides the fact that she’s unwittingly making your fledgling’s dead heart ache, I mean.”

He could almost see Jeanne purse her lips in resentment and disgust. “She’s unnatural. She’s _wrong_. She shouldn’t exist. And her size belies the number of problems she can cause.”

Ted frowned. The other Wolves had debated Evey’s existence at great length, before she was rescued. They hadn’t known what to expect, from the Ancients’ vague explanations. At that time, they didn’t even know that she could turn into a werewolf, or that she was connected to Greyback. As far as Ted knew, they still weren’t aware of these facts. He certainly hadn’t told them. He cared too much about her, and he was afraid of how his elders would react if they ever found out about these things.

He imagined that most of them would react as Jeanne did, though Ted didn’t understand it. Evey was not an abomination, she was a bloody miracle. She may be the one thing that would at last unite Wolves and Ancients, instead of dividing them for no reason.

He’d tried to explain his point of view to Alice, since she was a tad more open-minded than her ‘daughter’, and less likely to scratch his eyes out, but the Irish woman, though she had no quarrel with Evey, also believed that the girl was an abnormality rather than a blessing, and certainly not an opportunity for peace-making. Alice didn’t believe in a rapprochement between Wolves and Ancients; very few of them did, and these few didn’t dare speak their mind. For the most part, they simply didn’t see the point in the unification of their two races.

Live and let live, so to speak.

“She’s a better person than any of us,” Ted muttered, though that sort of argument was lost on Jeanne, whose definition of a ‘good person’ didn’t fit in any dictionary.

Jeanne scoffed loudly. “Well, that’s just fucking super. Let’s all become friends and make her our united ruler.”

That was precisely Ted's idea, but no one would accept it, Evey least of all. “I won’t say anything about Tony’s idiotic...plan,” Ted said wearily, abandoning their previous topic of conversation. “But once again, I feel obligated to remind you: do _not_ kill Greyback under any circumstances. You may think that I’m making empty threats here, and perhaps you’re right. You could probably take me in an unfair fight. But Evey’s death would crush the fledgling’s heart, and believe me, you would live to regret _that_.”

“He already hates me,” Jeanne murmured. “It’s not like I have anything to lose.” He heard her move, and her scent quickly receded. It wasn’t the first time she’d fled a verbal fight with Ted.

Ted turned his head, to the spot where Greyback had stood a few minutes earlier. He still had no idea how this would end. He’d conjured many different scenarios in his head, but no matter how optimistic he tried to be about it, he couldn’t see how Evey would make it out alive.

If they killed Greyback, Evey would die. If they somehow managed to capture him, Ted wouldn’t put it past the cub to constantly harm himself in order to make Evey suffer for it, possibly for eternity. Or until she decided to put an end to it.

His worst fear was that Greyback – devious, evil heir of Grigori that he was – would go on a murder spree in order to root Evey out of the manor, and then she would be recaptured, and gods knew how that would turn out. Did the cub really mean to attempt to make her his…queen, whatever that meant? Evey would never stand for it. She would likely kill herself if she was recaptured, knowing what awaited her. Ted was the only one who knew exactly what had happened during her captivity; he knew that Greyback had tried to rape her, which had led to Evey transforming into a werewolf for the first time and Greyback fleeing with his tail tucked between his legs. Perhaps Ted ought to reassure Tony on that subject, but it wasn’t his place to reveal what Evey obviously wanted to keep secret. And he couldn’t tell _her_ about what Greyback had just told Tony.

It was quite the conundrum. That was why Ted didn’t like keeping secrets. Honesty, in his opinion, no matter how harsh the truth, was always the best policy, in the long run.

* * *

Not for the first time, Jeanne watched as the hybrid strolled toward the woods, all alone. How easy it would be to end it all. Indeed, why should Jeanne risk her life to kill Greyback, when all she had to do was kill the defenceless girl instead?

Ted’s words about the suffering it would cause Antonin echoed in her mind, but the fledgling already despised her. Even if she had to leave and never come back, never see him again, Jeanne believed it would be worth it, if it meant that Antonin was safe.

And yet she hesitated.

The girl was turning into that strange beast again, her Animagus. It was as bizarre and grotesque as the girl herself – a fitting match.

Jeanne knew that she could kill the girl in that form or any other. She wasn’t trained to fight Ancients; she didn’t have the necessary strength or rapidity to even try, even as a werewolf. It would be so fucking _easy_.

Antonin walked out of the garage as Jeanne stood there, indecisive for the first time in her life. He couldn’t see her, and she made no sound, but he probably suspected that she was never far from him. She’d caught him staring right at her several times, frowning, but he’d never said anything. He obviously didn’t want to speak to her. He’d forsaken her. If he could have banished her from the estate, or even from this thrice-cursed island, he would have.

So why no kill the hybrid? Jeanne asked herself for the hundredth time. Antonin was already lost to her, and if she didn’t have him, she had nothing. She would save his life, save a _lot_ of people’s lives, if she killed the girl, and Greyback with her.

No one would ever thank her for it, but was it not worth it?

Jeanne stood there, motionless, invisible to all, pondering the girl’s future, and her own.


	65. I'm just a soul whose intentions are good

Jeanne opened the door and slammed it behind her, huffing as though she actually had air in her lungs.

Alice glanced up from her book and, after taking one look at Jeanne’s face, marked her page and let the book fall on the small table at her side. “What happened?”

Jeanne didn’t acknowledge her or her question. She rummaged through their assortment of blood vials until she found one to her taste and gulped it down, then carelessly wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

“What would you do, if you were me?” Jeanne asked after another minute of brooding silence. She was glaring at the empty vial in her hand as though it had personally offended her.

“About what?” It wasn’t like Jeanne to ask for advice, or seek someone else’s opinion about anything.

“You _know_ about what,” Jeanne grunted. “Imagine that I’m the fledgling, that I’m in mortal danger, but that the situation can be easily resolved, even if you also know that the solution would break my heart in two.” Her knuckles whitened around the vial. “As my maker, what would you do?”

“Jeanne…” Alice said hesitantly. “The world doesn’t revolve around you or the boy. You have to look at the bigger picture here.”

The vial shattered in Jeanne’s hand. Blood dripped from her clenched fist, but the wounds must have healed by the time the blood reached the carpeted floor. “You’re not answering my question,” Jeanne retorted. Then she frowned. “What bigger picture? Once we're rid of the hybrid and the Wolf, we can go on with our lives. Although mine will have to continue somewhere very far away from Antonin,” she muttered.

Alice shook her head. “Even if you put aside the fact that Antonin _and_ Walden will never forgive you and will likely demand justice to the Mother herself, not to mention set everyone against you,” she said, “there’s still the matter of Greyback being part of a pack.”

Jeanne made a sound between a scoff and a snort. “Are you seriously worrying about what will happen to the bloody _werewolves_ that he took under his wing? These irrelevant little puppies? Alice, you’re-”

“I meant the other Wolves, you idiot,” she snapped. “Do you really believe that there will be no consequences to killing one of their own?”

Jeanne’s face was expressionless. She hadn’t even considered this, had she? Gods, she could be so self-centred, sometimes. “Don’t be silly,” Jeanne said eventually. She didn’t sound as confident as usual. “Malkoran doesn’t give a shit about his Wolves. He’s abandoned them. He might not even notice that one of them is gone. As for the rest…”

“The ones we met last November may not _like_ Greyback, but that doesn’t mean they want him dead. And that was not all of them,” Alice reminded her daughter. Only half of the Wolves had been present that night.

“They disposed of Rasputin when he became a menace, didn’t they? Greyback _is_ a fucking menace!”

“They dealt with one of their own as they saw fit when they deemed him a danger to the pack,” Alice rephrased. “The only thing we could do is request a second meeting, explain how the situation has evolved since we discussed Evey’s rescue, and then let _them_ decide of Greyback’s fate. We are in no position to serve as judge, jury and executioner. Ancients and Wolves handle conflicts separately; we do not take common action against any specific member of either race. And we certainly do not take action against one of the opposite side without preliminary arrangement from higher authority from _both_ sides.”

“Nice speech,” Jeanne said sarcastically. “So what? We take up the matter to the Mother, that’s what you’re trying to say? Then she demands that Malkoran, or whoever is in charge, take care of Greyback? And we’ll just have to accept their ruling, whatever it is?” she said with a bitter twist of her mouth.

“I doubt that’ll work,” Alice said quietly. “Greyback hasn’t actually done anything to harm us…”

“ _N’importe quoi!_ ” Jeanne exclaimed. “That’s bullshit, Al. If we consider that the hybrid is a member of our ‘family’, then Greyback has _grievously_ harmed one of us.” She must be truly desperate, to invoke the family argument and to pretend to accept Evey as a part of it.

“You heard the Wolves the last time, Jeanne. They were already questioning the fact that Evey belonged to us, and that was _before_ we found out about her connection to Greyback and her ability to turn into a werewolf. If they knew about that, they’d tried to take her from us. Some of them would, at least. Why do you think Greyback hid her from his fellow Wolves in the first place? They’re linked, sure, but beyond that, a female werewolf… It means nothing to us, but to them?”

“Greyback believes that he can procreate with her,” Jeanne grumbled reluctantly. “I heard him this morning, when he was talking with Antonin.”

Alice nodded. “My point exactly. And if Greyback believes it, the other Wolves soon will.” She paused, scowling. “How much has Blackbeard told the Wolves about Evey, do you think?”

“He hasn’t talked to any of them recently, as far as I know. But Musashi knows, doesn’t he? Possibly Cortés, too. The hybrid wasn’t exactly tight-lipped during that car drive, apparently,” Jeanne said darkly.

“If the ones in charge knew – Moonsinger and his two acolytes – we would have heard from them already, don’t you think?” Blackbeard called them “The Holy Trinity”: Ramesses, Hannibal Barca and William the Conqueror. According to the pirate, with Malkoran unavailable, they made decisions for the entire pack. The good news was that the three of them were part of the group that heeded the Mother’s plea for Evey’s rescue. The bad news was that Alice had no clue how they would react to the new developments regarding Evey.

“What if they sent the pirate to spy on us?” Jeanne said. “Maybe they’re just biding their time to claim her. Or what if…”

“What if Greyback told them everything in the hope that they would take his side,” Alice finished for her. Jeanne nodded glumly. That seemed a likelier option; Alice didn’t particularly appreciate Blackbeard as a person, but her instincts told her that he could be trusted – to a certain extent.

Jeanne sat down on the other armchair and put up her feet on the low table. “If we can’t trust the Wolves, we can’t demand a trial for Greyback. So taking it up to the Mother serves no purpose, does it?”

Alice pondered for a moment. “I suppose not.” She hesitated. “Jeanne…I think there’s not much we can do without starting a war.”

“So we’re stuck, that’s what you’re saying?”

“For now…yes, I’m afraid we are.”

Alice’s advice notwithstanding, she doubted that Jeanne would simply wait for the situation to unlock itself before taking matters into her own hands and doing something very foolish – and possibly doom them all. Patience had never been her daughter’s strong suit.

* * *

Ted peered into the garage. He knew that Tony was there, but he didn’t know if the lad had heard him. He was often lost in thought and paid no attention to his surroundings. Ted didn’t want to startle him, especially after this morning’s debacle.

The Ancient looked up from his desk as Ted stepped forward, but he didn’t say anything. Ted kept moving until he stood on the other side of the desk, and he picked up a gadget at random just to keep his hands busy. It looked like a watch, but instead of the time, it appeared to tell the current lunar phase. “Another gift for Evey?” Ted asked.

Tony averted his gaze. “Could be useful,” he mumbled. “You never know.”

“Uh-huh.” He cleared his throat. “Look, we should really talk about what happened with the cub this morning.”

“I was just trying to help,” Tony said in a low voice. “But I see now that it was a stupid idea, ok? I hadn’t talked to Greyback in years. I guess I forgot what an unreasonable, sadistic asshole he was. Should have known better, after what he did to Evey, but…” He trailed off, passing a hand through his hair. It looked wilder than Ted’s own beard, and that was saying something.

“You know what your problem is?” Ted said bluntly. He was done mincing his words. The lad needed a wake-up call. “Going behind everyone’s backs. We could have told you that it was a dumb move.”

There was a long pause. “I told Walden about it,” Tony admitted. “He said it was insane.”

Ted sighed. “Then why did you do it anyway?” Tony didn’t appear to have an answer to that. Most likely, he was just that desperate to come up with a solution to Evey’s predicament. “Let’s just forget it ever happened, yes?” The Ancient nodded quickly in assent. Ted suddenly felt like a parent scolding his kid; to be fair, Tony had a boyish look about him. His Ancient-ness was partly to blame for that, ironically enough.

“Are you planning on ever telling Evey that…you know…” Ted said awkwardly.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Tony exclaimed, finally meeting his eyes. “Of course not. Evey can’t ever find out. Walden can’t ever find out. Please don’t tell them,” he added with pathetic urgency.

“Well, it’s none of my business,” Ted said gruffly.

“I’ll leave as soon as I can,” Tony went on. “I realise that it’s…unhealthy for me to stay here with them. If the situation were different…”

“Yeah, it’s best for you to be there for Evey, in case Greyback somehow breaches the wards.” Jeanne and Alice were both staying at the inn down in the village, but Tony wasn’t supposed to know that.

Silence stretched between them. Ted was about to leave when Tony spoke. “Have you ever regretted…that is, do you ever wish that Silver hadn’t turned you? Or that he’d given you a choice, at least?”

Ted stared at him in incomprehension. “He did give me a choice,” he said slowly. “You can’t turn a Wolf without his consent. Regular werewolves, now, nobody really bothers to ask their opinion, but…” He cut off at the look on Tony’s face. “What?”

“How is that fair?” he complained. “The Ancients don’t care about what you want. They don’t ask. They stalk you while you live, wait until you’re dead, or straight out kill you, in my case, then they turn you and that’s it. Deal with it, fledgling, they say,” he went on sourly.

“I…didn’t know that,” Ted admitted. No wonder that the lad was so pissed off with his maker, then. A premeditated murder followed by a non-consensual turning didn’t seem to herald the beginning of a healthy relationship.

Tony sat forward in his chair and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, elbows resting on the desk. “Unbelievable,” he whispered. “Un-fucking-believable.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “You Wolves are lucky bastards, you know that?”

Well…that was mostly true. “You can eat whatever you want,” Tony said. “You don’t look like you’re barely old enough to walk into a pub. You can actually decide whether you want to live forever or not.”

“There are a few…drawbacks, though. I mean, it’s not all peachy, you know. You Ancients are a close-knit family. Ironically, you are the ones with pack dynamics. You help each other out when there’s trouble. And, most importantly, you decide _together_ who the next Ancient will be. Gorgo’s work as a head-hunter…do you even realise how crucial that is? I wish we had someone like her. Grigori and Greyback would have never been turned, if we had a Gorgo.” He paused briefly. “You have proper leadership, and the Mother cares about you. All of you.” He grinned suddenly. “And you have women!”

“Well, I don’t care about any of that, but I’m sorry you feel that way.” For the first time, Tony shot him a genuine smile. “We can adopt you, if you want.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Yeah…” Tony coughed discreetly. “Um, Ted? Is Jeanne still… I mean, she hasn’t actually left, has she? Sometimes I feel like...”

“Like someone’s glaring at you and thinking of the best French insults to throw at you?”

Tony shook his head. “I knew it. I bloody knew it. I assume she knows about Greyback, then?”

“She knows pretty much everything there is to know,” Ted admitted.

“You’ve talked to her?” Ted nodded. “Did she mention Evey again? And her…’solution’ to get rid of Greyback for good? She won’t really do it, will she? She wouldn’t kill Evey. Right?” Tony said anxiously.

Ted shrugged. “I don’t know, lad.” Jeanne clearly hadn’t dismissed the idea, and that was all he knew for certain.

“She couldn’t even if she wanted to,” Tony muttered to himself. “The wards would kick her out of the estate if she had evil intentions. I think.”

“I don’t understand how the wards work,” Ted said, “but for the record, I don’t think that Jeanne believes herself to be evil. She’s just…trying to do the right thing, the way she sees it.” He hesitated. “Just like you thought asking Greyback for help was the right thing to do.”

“That was completely different!” Tony retorted. “I-” He cut off abruptly. “Is she here right now?”

“Nah. She’s nowhere close enough to hear us.” Tony looked visibly relieved. “But you should probably talk to her. Like Alice suggested.”

Tony frowned. “Did you see Alice, too?”

Oops. “Ah…well, she’s, um…” Ted stuttered. The two Ancient ladies would have his hide if they found out about this. Oh well. He’d survived so far. “They’re both staying at the inn.”

“I see.” He didn’t look too happy. “So you’re spying on us for them, is that it?”

“What? No! Not at all.” Tony stared at him blankly at the obvious lie. “I mean,” Ted amended, “I wouldn’t call it ‘spying’. They’re just worried about you, fledg…um, mate.”

“Somehow, I doubt Evey and Walden will see it that way,” Tony remarked wryly.

“Look, they’re not doing anything wrong, alright? And by reporting your mundane activities to Jeanne, I also get to keep an eye on her,” Ted explained quickly. “Evey’s still alive. That’s got to count for something.”

“Are you willing to report Jeanne’s activities to me?” Tony asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, she doesn’t really do anything worth reporting. She’s either here watching you, or she’s in her room complaining to Alice about you and cursing in French.”

Tony considered that for a moment. “That does sound like Jeanne.” He shrugged. “Just let me know if she says anything about Evey, ok? Or if she does something she shouldn’t be doing.”

“Yeah, I will. We’ll um, keep this between us, then?”

“If you don’t say anything about the Greyback…incident, I won’t say anything about Jeanne and the spying,” Tony promised.

* * *

Evey moved a finger along the ragged scar that crossed over Walden’s stomach. Funnily enough, he’d done that that to himself. Swords were not toys. “Wal… Is Tony ok?”

Walden didn’t wonder why she was asking. He must have noticed, too. “Not sure, love.”

“He was _really_ weird today. And he’s been so distant, lately…completely submerged in his work, like he’s trying to avoid having to face…something.” She bit her lip. “Do you think he’s mad at us?”

“I can’t imagine why.” Walden turned to face her. “It’s probably the whole Jeanne business that’s bothering him. He still hasn’t called her. Not that I think he should but…”

“But you can tell he wants to, right?” Walden nodded. “Yeah. I can’t stand her, but I try to think of her as…his mum, sort of.” More like an evil stepmother in a Disney movie, in truth. But she went along with the mum metaphor. “I mean, I’m aware that he had an actual mother, but…”

“That’s how I see it, too. But I think it’s more complicated than that. He’s obviously very conflicted about Jeanne, for various reasons.”

“Ok, well, you know him better than I do,” Evey said pragmatically. “What should we do or say? Or should we just leave him alone, let him figure it out on his own?”

“V, you know him as well as I do. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You’ve known him since you were five!” she argued.

Walden’s expression darkened. “That was before…before Fabian and Gideon. Before Azkaban. Before Jeanne. He’s not the boy I used to know.”

“I think he’s just depressed,” Evey said. The very thought made _her_ depressed. “But I’ve no idea how to help him with that. I mean, he can go out if he wants. Like, if he wants to…meet other people…” She trailed off, flushing slightly. That was a euphemism for ‘sleeping with as many women as possible’.

“It’s not safe out there, V. Not even for him. If Greyback gets his hands on Tony, he might not kill him, but he could use him as leverage to get you back.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t considered that. To be fair, her brain wasn’t wired like that of a serial killer, unlike Walden’s, it seemed.

“Then…maybe I should just spend more time with him. Find out what he’s doing in the garage. I could be his assistant, or something.”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Walden said distractedly. It was almost dawn; he was getting sleepy.

“I’ll do that,” Evey decided. “Starting tomorrow,” she added with a yawn.

* * *

“This is a beautiful watch,” Evey said as she studied it appreciatively. There were minuscule stars on the dark blue bracelet, and they shone like the ones in the night sky. The dial showed a half moon, with tiny clouds partially covering it. “How do you even come up with those ideas? It’s fucking brilliant.”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t know. I have a lot of time on my hands, I guess.” He glanced up briefly. “You can keep it, by the way. I made it for you.”

“Aw, Tony, you already gave me the locket for my birthday! And all I got you was a bunch of blood bottles,” she muttered, angry with herself. She should have thought of something else, something more cheerful. Blood only served to remind him that he had to drink it, which Tony hated to do. No wonder he was a bit distant. He must think that Evey hadn’t put a lot of effort in her gift to him.

“The blood was a good idea, V. Knowing me, I would have waited until the last moment to get it, and I would have been half-raving by then. Now I don’t have to worry about that for a long time. Seriously, you did me a huge favour.”

“If you say so.” There was a minute of silence, which felt odd, even slightly disturbing. Tony always had something to say. “So…” Evey began, “what are you working on now?”

“I’m experimenting with different magical stuff to determine if they can be used as wand cores, or complementary wand cores,” he explained. He showed her a frail, iridescent wing. “Fairy wing. From Walden’s supply closet,” he added hastily. “I didn’t rip it off some innocent fairy.”

Evey eyed the wing thoughtfully. “Just to be clear: you were an engineer, right? Not a wandmaker.”

“That’s right. But I figure that immortals have to try various career paths in their existence,” Tony replied casually. “And I took wandmaking in university, as an elective. I always liked it, but there aren’t many career opportunities in the field. Most English wizards only buy one or two wands in their entire lives, and Ollivander fabricates and sells most of them.”

“It’s good to diversify your hobbies and interests,” Evey said encouragingly.

Tony shot her a strange look. “Did you…want something, V?”

“No, no, I was just…curious. And, um, I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted me to help, or…” She took a deep breath and tried to form a full sentence. “I mean, I don’t know anything about engineering or wandmaking, but I can gather supplies and things like that for you. If you want.” She smiled at him.

Tony looked uncomfortable, for some reason. Sure, Evey was notoriously clumsy, but she wasn’t as bad as Tonks. And she wasn’t completely stupid. If Tony took the time to teach her, she might actually learn something. As long as it wasn’t Occlumency. Or Apparition.

“That’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t really need help. I’m not even doing anything important, you know, just…toying with weird magical ingredients and trying not to make them explode in my face.” He returned her a smile that was merely a shadow of the one Evey had become so used to in the past two years.

“Tony, what’s going on? Is something wrong?” _Oh, very subtle, Evangeline. Very subtle indeed._

“Nothing!” He avoided her gaze. “I…I mean, you can help if you really want to…”

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said quietly. “Or Walden, if you’d prefer to talk with another…male. There’s also Ted. He’s very easy to talk to.” Perhaps _too_ easy to talk to. Evey had told him things that even Walden and Tony didn’t know about. She imagined that that was what it felt like to drink Veritaserum: you just rambled on and on and it wasn’t until your throat begged for water that you realised what you’d done.

Tony shifted gingerly, his eyes still on the floor. “I don’t need to talk to anyone. I’m fine. I swear. I’m just worried about…well, you know. Everything,” he said with a shaky laugh.

“The wards are holding, Tony. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“No offence, but that’s a rather naïve opinion, V. I’m glad that we’re all safe, but I don’t want to be stuck here for thirty years or more. At some point, we’ll have to _do_ something.”

“And what do you propose?” He had a point; they _were_ stuck here, and Greyback knew that. Evey couldn’t think of anything to resolve the situation, though. Not unless they decided to follow Jeanne’s idea, anyway.

“I don’t know,” Tony said wistfully. “Walden and you have been looking into old books about werewolves for weeks now, but I’m beginning to think that there’s simply nothing to be found. Your connection with Greyback is very likely unique; it’s never happened before. We’ll have to figure it out on our own, but how we’re supposed to accomplish that without having Greyback at our disposal, I have no clue.”

“So you think we should capture him alive and…experiment on him? On us?” Evey doubted that the former was possible, and was certain that Walden would object to the latter.

“Ideally, yes,” Tony said. “I can’t think of another alternative. I do realise that it’s pretty much unfeasible, though.” He shrugged helplessly. “Maybe we should ask for suggestions at the next Order meeting? Dumbledore might think of something.”

“It’s scheduled for early July, after the end of the school year.” Another few weeks, unless something important came up before that, of course. Evey sighed in frustration and annoyance. “Until then, it seems that all we can do is wait. Again.” It seemed that all she’d been doing since her family had died was wait. They’d been waiting at Grimmauld place to be allowed outside, then Evey had been waiting to be rescued at Asgard, and now this. It wasn’t fair. It was all Greyback’s fault.

But the Wolf would pay for it, for everything, one way or another.


	66. Jamais je ne t'oublierai

Walden and Evey were having lunch around midnight and Tony was glumly trying to swallow half a glass of O negative blood when they received a message from Tonks.

Evey nearly fell off her chair as a huge silvery wolf materialised in front of her, before she realised it was only a Patronus. ' _Trouble at Hogwarts!_ ' it spoke in Tonks’ voice. ‘ _Come at once!_ ' It faded to mist as soon as the message was delivered.

Walden’s first reaction, as Tony might have expected, was to forbid Evey to come along. Tony could have told him that it was pointless. Evey didn’t even bother to acknowledge Walden’s arguments. She grabbed her wand, gave her husband a look that should have incinerated him on the spot, then glanced toward the woods. “I have no idea where Ted is, and he left his phone inside.”

“Then go look for him,” Walden said, seizing the opportunity. “Tony and I will go ahead, and you can join us when-”

“We’re going now,” Evey said firmly. “I’ll leave a note, and he will join _us_.”

“How?” Walden countered, clearly grappling for the smallest chance to keep her safe. “He can’t Apparate.”

Evey snorted. “Well, neither can I. Apparating alone over such a long distance will get me killed more likely than whatever is happening at Hogwarts.”

She was startled again when the wolf returned suddenly, only for an instant. _‘Hurry, please!’_

“We’re wasting time,” Evey said. “Let’s go.” She marched out of the kitchen without waiting to see if they were following.

Tony quickly cast several basic protective charms on Evey, masking her scent before they reached the wards, and they each took a drop of Felix Felicis, at the risk of wasting it. Tony had no idea if the potion would work on him, but Evey insisted.

Hogwarts castle was deadly quiet when they Apparated in front of the main gates, but they saw flashes of light coming from the Astronomy Tower. There was obviously a battle going on there. They ran toward it.

Tony had turned invisible, as had Evey, but there was little need. They didn't meet anyone in the hallways until they reached the thick of the battle. There seemed to be people everywhere, judging by the noise, but the corridor was plunged in unnatural darkness and they found it all but impossible to tell friend from foe.

Tony caught glimpses of several of his former associates, but even before that, it was Alecto Carrow's wheezy giggle that made him aware that, somehow, Death Eaters had penetrated inside the castle. How in Merlin's name had they accomplished that?

“Perfect occasion to transform into an Animagus,” he heard Evey say, somewhere to his left. It made sense; turning into a werewolf, though it may be useful, would certainly cause a panic, and it was clear that they didn’t need to worsen the already chaotic situation. “Wal, you should do the same. It’ll sharpen our senses of smell, and my hearing. Perhaps we’ll see a tad better, too.” Evey's wand lit up briefly as she muttered the incantation. Tony couldn’t see it, since it was pitch black, but he sensed that her shape was growing, and then growing some more. The same happened to his right where, he assumed, Walden had been standing. A moment later, Tony was flanked by a large brown bear and an even larger kitsune. Both Animagi ran forward into the melee, Evey’s pure white fur an ephemeral beacon in the obscurity whenever it came near a source of light. Walden let out a roar that caused an instant of intense silence, but it didn’t last.

“The bear’s on our side!” Tonks shouted from somewhere ahead. “And the kit…the very big fox, too!” They’d told Dumbledore about Evey’s new ability – which she’d mastered easily, likely thanks to her regular transformation into a werewolf of roughly the same size as her Animagus.

Everyone seemed to be grappling in the shadows, although it seemed to matter little to the Death Eaters, and especially to Thorfinn Rowle who, some distance away, was whirling around, casting jinxes and curses at everything that moved. With luck – and they’d made certain to bring plenty of that – he would hit more Death Eaters than members of the Order.

Tony realised abruptly that there were kids, too; some of the Weasleys were here, at least – there was no mistaking the familiar ginger hair. He thought he saw Ginny, but she was gone by the time he reached the spot where he'd seen her.

And that tall, gangly red-haired figure, faintly illuminated by wand light, had to be Bill. He seemed to be struggling with someone – and now he was on the ground, a much larger shadow looming over him.

Tony ran toward him, summoning tiny fireballs and sending them swirling around him to provide a modicum of light. The person who was attacking the eldest Weasley sibling was a towering, broad-shouldered man with long grey hair-

Greyback.

 _Evey_. Tony felt a brief moment of mindless terror at the thought of her, unaware of the danger, but a brief moment was all he had. The Wolf turned his gleaming, light-reflecting eyes on Tony as soon as he approached. Invisible or not, Greyback must have smelled him – Ancients were immune to magic, both harmful and beneficial. He had no way of masking his own scent.

In the few seconds it had taken Tony to reach them, it seemed that Greyback had managed to mess up Bill rather badly, despite being in human form.

Magic would be useless against Greyback, just as it was against himself, Tony knew, so he did the only thing he could think of: he threw himself at the Wolf.

They wrestled for a time on the floor, and Tony heard Greyback's jaw snap shut somewhere uncomfortably close to his throat, but he managed to shove the Wolf slightly aside, with great difficulty. Greyback was bigger than him, and _much_ stronger. As expected, it didn't matter that Tony was invisible, not now that the Wolf had a hold on him. Tony had to get away. He could smell Greyback’s breath – it reeked of blood. He had to free himself from Greyback’s unyielding grip before–

The Wolf tumbled away from him suddenly, as though he’d been violently pushed. Tony heard him crash against a nearby wall. Tony rose to his feet to quickly check on Bill, feeling his way with his hands: Bill was still alive, as far as he could make out. Healing was not his specialty, however, so there was nothing else he could do for him.

Now to more pressing matters: who could possibly be strong enough to manhandle a Wolf like that? Walden or Evey? Animagi were only as strong as the animals they incarnated. Could a bear or a kitsune-

"Get the hell out of here!" someone yelled at him. "You're no match for the beast, fledgling."

Tony stared blindly ahead. His fireballs had been extinguished the moment he’d launched himself at Greyback, and he was too stunned to summon more.

He recognised the voice, though.

 _Jeanne_. How had she gotten here so fast? How had she even found out that there was a battle going on? Merlin, her surveillance system must be _good_. Or was she having him followed, somehow? Well, it was irrelevant right then. Judging from the sounds she was making, Jeanne was in trouble. Greyback let out a rumbling bark of a laugh but it quickly turned into a groan. Some distance away, an animal yelped in sudden pain.

_Evey._

Tony had to do something. _Light. I need light._ Still shocked, he fumbled with his wand to illumine the area directly in front of him.

It wasn’t bright enough. He tried to get closer, but the impenetrable gloom lifted as he took a first step.

At some point during their scuffle, Jeanne had somehow managed to pin the Wolf down under her. She was definitely stronger than she looked.

Tony saw her razor-sharp fangs move toward Greyback’s throat, ready to deliver the killing blow.

“NO!” Tony shouted, stumbling forward, hand half-raised.

It happened so fast. Jeanne turned to him, frowning in annoyance at his interruption, then her eyes widened as Greyback roared wildly and disentangled himself from her. Jeanne fell to the side, and Tony couldn’t see her anymore, as she was hidden behind Greyback’s imposing body. Before he could even think to move, Tony heard Jeanne screech in rage. This was followed by a very disturbing crunching noise. Jeanne cried out weakly.

Greyback spun his head slowly and flaunted a bloody grin. Tony realised that he'd unconsciously turned himself visible. Jeanne lay utterly still under the Wolf, blood gushing from her throat. Greyback stood up and dusted himself off at leisure, though the left side of his shirt was practically drenched in blood. The gash in his shoulder was bleeding. “Well,” the Wolf said matter-of-factly. “That makes us even.” Without another word, he turned and fled with all the other Death Eaters.

Tony had a flash of lucidity and looked around for Evey, but her Animagus was yipping at the stairs that led to the Astronomy balcony, her nine tails flapping around without regard for human presence in the area.

She was safe. Either Greyback hadn’t realised that she was here – in Animagus form, she smelled, Ted had told them, like a kitsune, and not at all like Evey – or he’d run home to lick his wounds and live to capture her another day. Maybe he was afraid that Tony would finish him off, now that Jeanne had crippled him somewhat.

Tony fell to his knees at Jeanne’s side, feeling a crushing rush of guilt. He’d distracted her. It was his fault.

Her blue eye was very wide and unfocused, and she seemed to be gasping for breath – which was simply ridiculous, since she didn't breathe. The amount of blood was disconcerting. Why wasn't she regenerating? When Blackbeard had explained that only a Wolf could permanently damage an Ancient, Tony had assumed it to mean that it would take them more time to heal. Jeanne’s wound wasn’t healing at all. Blood was spurting out of her mangled carotid like a miniature fountain. "No, no, no," Tony murmured. He gingerly placed his hand on her throat to slow the flow of blood. "Jeanne, tell me what to do. Tell me how to stop the bleeding." He felt a sudden...emptiness inside of him, and glanced up at his maker's face. "Jeanne?" She was absolutely still, her eye staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, mouth slightly ajar. Reflexively, Tony felt for a pulse, before he remembered that she had no heartbeat.

How could she be dead, if she was _already_ dead? It didn't make any fucking sense. Feeling a wave of hysterical panic rising inside him, he slapped her. "Come on! You can't _die_ , Jeanne. You're a bloody Ancient, burn you. Jeanne!" No response. " _Tu peux pas mourir_ ," he snarled in mediocre French. "You can't–"

He started suddenly. Someone was calling him – no, _summoning_ him. He rose to his feet hesitantly and realised that Evey stood beside him, back to her human self. She looked bedraggled, her green t-shirt painted crimson on one side, but she appeared unhurt. "Tony, I'm so sorry," she whispered, patting his arm.

He tried to speak, to deny the glaring truth of what had just happened, but his feet were moving of their own accord, carrying him rapidly away from Evey, away from Jeanne.

He had to answer the summons.

* * *

Alice was reclining comfortably in the bathtub, in her room at the inn. She had a good book, a glass of blood, and she was surrounded by scented candles. Jeanne had seemed agitated earlier, after receiving news from her wizardly spy, but she’d assured Alice that it was nothing she couldn’t handle herself. That she would be back before dawn.

It was nice to have the room to herself for a while. Not that Jeanne was very intrusive, but she did have a tendency to mutter to herself when she was working, and she rarely took a break. They could have booked separate rooms, of course, but with the Wolf in the adjacent chamber, they preferred to stick together. Alice didn’t trust Blackbeard entirely, despite the help he’d already provided, despite the fact that he was reporting to Jeanne every other day, recounting in great detail what was going on at the manor. As for Jeanne…well, Jeanne didn’t trust anyone.

There was a knock on the door. The _bathroom_ door, which meant that, whoever it was, they’d let themselves into the room. It had to be Jeanne, and if she was bothering Alice in her bath, it had to be a matter of life and death.

Alice hastily tied a towel around her, leaving her hair to hang wetly on her shoulders, and opened the door. It was Blackbeard. Alice frowned suspiciously. “What are you doing here? Jeanne’s out.”

The Wolf remained uncharacteristically silent as he showed her a half-crumpled note covered with spidery handwriting. ‘ _It’s 00.20. Gone to Hogwarts, the 3 of us. Trouble. Join us if you can.’_

Alice glanced at the clock above the fireplace. Forty past midnight. They could still make it there. “I know how to contact Jeanne’s sorcerer. He can Apparate us at-”

She cut off mid-sentence, one hand springing to her chest. To where her heart must be, provided that she still had one. She felt no pain, but something was happening, something terribly _wrong_.

Then something broke inside of her, and she understood.

Ted moved forward to catch her as she fell to her knees, but Alice pushed him away. She heard him crash into the bathtub, but the sound seemed to come from far away. Blood trickled at the corners of her eyes as the impossible, appalling thought took form in her mind.

_My daughter. My only daughter._

_Mo chuisle, mo chroi._

* * *

Gorgo sighed contentedly, wrapping her slim body around Imhotep’s muscular one. He wasn’t asleep, but he appeared to be meditating, a common way to pass the time among the most ancient of the Ancients. Gorgo felt herself drifting away slowly, peacefully…but she jerked backwards as her lover sat up abruptly, half-fell off the bed and landed on his knees on the floor.

“Is something the matter?” Gorgo asked worriedly. She’d never seen him do anything of the sort. When he didn’t answer, she draped herself in the bed sheet and joined him, crouching at his side, a hand on his broad, scarred back. “Darling? Is something wrong?”

Something dripped onto the floor. Blood.

Gorgo stared at it in baffled incomprehension. “Are you unwell?” Perhaps he was sick. He may be the eldest, but he couldn’t stomach champagne as well as Gorgo did. They shouldn’t have drunk. Still, if the bubbly liquid was to blame, Imhotep would be vomiting blood, not…

Was he crying? The modern world was often a cause for sadness and despair, but Imhotep was a rock. He was the most solid man she’d ever encountered, and that spoke volumes, because she had met a _lot_ of men. “Imhotep?” She moved closer, extending her arm around him.

He spoke in his native language, but Gorgo had never learned it. “My love, what did you say?” she prompted him gently.

“Jeanne,” he said eventually, his deep voice shattering. His back was shaking, Gorgo realised. He was actually _sobbing_. “Our Jeanne is dead.”

* * *

The Original One rose from her cushioned seat with a piercing scream, feeling as though a part of her had been ripped away and torn to shreds.

 _Jeanne_.

She sought her child with her mind, sought her _awareness_ of her, but she found nothing there. There was nothing to be found.

No! It was impossible. She couldn't be gone. She couldn't be _dead_. Malkoran wouldn't _dare…_! After all these years, all these cursed _millennia_ , why would he hurt her so, why _now_?

She was weeping, she realised. She hadn't shed a tear in centuries, perhaps more, not since her last attempt at taking her own life had failed.

She had to compose herself. She took a long, unnecessary breath. It often helped, despite the futility of the gesture. What to do? She couldn't track Jeanne, now that she was…gone, but she needed to know who was responsible for this nameless atrocity.

 _Antonin_. Yes. He might know what happened. She sought the youngest member of their dysfunctional family and summoned him. He shouldn't be long – that was the perk of being a wizard. She hastily wiped the blood from her face with an embroidered handkerchief.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later, and the Mother of All dismissed her servants impatiently, opening the door herself.

The boy looked like death itself. He was even paler than usual. His arms and hands were covered in blood.

He not only knew what had happened, he had been there when it did.

"Come in," she said briskly. That would have to do for an invitation. She glided to the front room, knowing he would follow. She fell lightly in her favourite chair and ordered Antonin to sit on the couch, across from her. "Tell me what happened," she commanded. She regretted being so curt, given the circumstances, but she couldn't help it. She was beyond herself, nearly out of control, spiralling into a grief-induced frenzy. Thankfully, it wouldn't be obvious to anyone but her.

"It was Greyback, Mother." Antonin spoke very softly, enunciating carefully, as if he were in a trance. His eyes stared dully at the coffee table. "There was a battle at Hogwarts, and Greyback… We didn’t know he would be there, otherwise… We would never have let Evey come… Wouldn't have gone at all...” There was a long pause, then he seemed to notice that he was digressing. “Greyback attacked a friend of mine, and I tried to stop him." He gave an involuntary shudder. A fledgling, against _Greyback_? What had he been thinking? Greyback, though he was the newest Wolf to join Malkoran’s army, was more powerful than most of his kind, if rumours could be believed. "He was too bloody strong. I thought he was going to crush me, but then someone pushed him away... It was dark, but I heard Jeanne call out to me. I…I wanted to help her, but I couldn't _see_ , and it was over so _fast_ …" He cut off abruptly, quivering harder than ever. He was crying, she realised. Blood drenched his cheeks and dripped on his clenched fists. She rose from her seat to join him on the couch, and she held him for a long time, caressing his hair, murmuring empty, soothing words of comfort. She spoke in the language she knew best, the one who belonged to her and Malkoran alone, but she didn’t think it mattered if Antonin understood her or not.

She didn't feel like weeping anymore. Like falling apart. Her cold, dead heart was filled with sorrow and grief, but she had found the culprit. She let outrage and fury fill her to the brim instead. When she got her hands on him, this Greyback character would regret ever being born.

"You can't kill him," Antonin murmured, as though he’d read her mind.

She released her grip on him and frowned darkly. The top of her silky gown was stained with the fledgling’s bloody tears, but that was the last of her worries. "Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do, boy?"

"Mother,” he pleaded, “Evey's linked to him. If you kill him…"

By Lilith! She had forgotten about that. That cursed girl again. The curious hybrid had caused more trouble in the few months the Mother had been aware of her existence than anyone she'd ever known before for any length of time. And now the girl would deprive her of her revenge? No, not revenge. Righteous justice. This wasn’t merely an emotional response. She had a _right_ to demand Greyback’s head, and Malkoran _would_ give it to her. "Antonin, Jeanne was your maker," she hissed. "She was my _child_. We owe it to her to avenge her death. As for this little…improbable _being_ that you seem to care so much about…she is the least of my preoccupations."

"Well she's not the least of mine!" he retorted with sudden anger. The boy reminded her of Malkoran, sometimes. So amiable and charismatic, so mellow, and yet all who had seen him in a fit of temper had suffered for it. "She's my sister by law, and my best friend, and I'll do many stupid things to prevent her from getting hurt, including physically restraining _you_ , if it comes to that." His eyes shone fervently. This wasn't an idle threat, although he would soon realise that there was nothing he could do to harm her, if he proved foolish enough to try.

"I suggest that you moderate your tone, fledgling," she told him coolly. "Let us both calm down, shall we?"

Antonin stood up, obviously eager to get away from her. He walked up to the window. Dawn was still hours away. He was ruffling his hair and muttering under his breath, but she paid him not enough attention to catch what he was saying. Truth be told, she wouldn't harm the girl if there was a way around it – some of her other children had taken a liking to her, notably Gorgo and Imhotep, for whatever reason – but Greyback _had_ to be held accountable for his actions. She would not let this slide. For that matter, she couldn't fathom why Malkoran was leaving him be. Greyback was a danger to them all, Wolves and Ancients both.

Her path was clear. She had to find Malkoran and force him to take part, to be the leader his Wolves needed. She would demand justice, and she would not take _no_ for an answer.

For that…she would have to talk to him. Preferably without wrenching the heart out of his chest, no matter how attractive the concept.

 _Well, this is just adding insult to injury_ , the Bloodmother thought bitterly.

* * *

Tony returned an hour after running off without a word, after his maker had met her final death at the hands of Fenrir fucking Greyback. The bloody Wolf had been right _there_ , and Evey hadn't spotted him until it was too late. He had fled,  _again_ , like the coward he was, and Merlin knew where he was now, or when they would see him again.

At least he hadn't captured her again. She briefly wondered why he hadn't – hadn’t he sensed her presence at all? If so, she would definitely rub it in Walden’s face that becoming an Animagus had been a genius idea – but decided that she didn't care. Walden was unharmed, and…almost everyone else was alive. That was…the best she could have hoped for, given the tragic circumstances.

Before she could call out to Tony, Mrs Weasley and Fleur both rose from their seats to embrace him. It was good that Mrs Weasley had finally accepted Fleur into her family, but it was a shame that it had taken Bill being savagely disfigured for it to happen. Tony simply stood there, motionless, as the two women thanked him profusely for saving their son and husband-to-be.

"Looks like I didn't help much," Tony muttered when they let him get a word in edgewise. To be fair, Bill did look awful, as though someone had put his face in a meat grinder and hastily attempted to put everything back where it belonged.

Bill’s wounds were grievous indeed, but Madam Pomfrey was confident that he would fully recover. Unfortunately, he would always bear the scars of his encounter with the Wolf, but Greyback wasn’t transformed when he’d mauled Bill, so Remus believed that he wouldn't become a werewolf. Besides, even Wolves needed the full moon to successfully turn someone into a werewolf.

"Dolohov," Remus said quietly, "if you hadn't intervened, Bill would be dead." For the first time since Evey had known him, the werewolf didn’t sound suspicious at all of Tony. He sounded almost…respectful.

Tony shrugged indifferently. "Maybe." He sidestepped the two women who were blocking his path and joined Walden beside the cot in which Evey was resting.

Madam Pomfrey had insisted that Evey lie down, because her t-shirt was covered with blood and the Hogwarts nurse had thought to find a daunting injury somewhere on her person, but there was nothing. Jeanne must have bitten Greyback on the shoulder, or scratched him, and the mirror wound on Evey's body, even in Animagus form, had regenerated quickly – although the pain had been quite real. Still, she was exhausted, after running around wildly, never certain of what was happening, and worrying about everyone as she tried to attack and defend the right people.

"Are you alright?" Tony asked her anxiously as he sat on the cot. “That looks like a lot of blood.”

Jeanne had done a pretty good job on Greyback, admittedly. Evey almost wished she’d killed him, but then Evey would also be dead, wouldn’t she? Or would she have regenerated fast enough to survive, while Greyback died? Interesting notion. And if an Ancient bit Evey…would it harm Greyback as though they’d wounded him directly?

How had they not considered that possibility before?

Well, it hardly mattered. Walden would never allow her to attempt it, or even think about it, really. In any case, they would need Greyback to be in the vicinity if they ever tried anything of the sort; they needed to know that it was working, that Evey wasn’t bleeding out just for the sake of it. They might only get one shot at this risky experiment, so it would be complicated to test, to say the least. Especially without Walden finding out about it. For that matter, Evey doubted that Tony would be on board, or even Ted.

If Jeanne were still alive, though, Evey had no doubt that she would have volunteered to slit Evey’s throat or cut her heart out. Hell, she might even have done it without Evey’s consent.

Evey forced the unpleasant thoughts out of her mind for the time being. Tony needed her. "I’m fine. You?"

"No," he replied truthfully. "Not quite." He took a look around the infirmary. "Where's she?"

He meant Jeanne’s body, Evey surmised. "She…um…kind of disintegrated, soon after you left." She glanced at her husband for help.

"Her body turned into tiny blood droplets, which quickly evaporated," Walden said. "There's nothing left of her now. Sorry, mate."

Tony frowned slightly. "I see. Well. Everyone else alive?" he asked derisively.

It wasn't like him to be so cynical. He would regret that tone when Evey announced the dire news. "Dumbledore is dead," she murmured. She still couldn't quite believe it. Dumbledore wasn’t just a man or a wizard; he was a fucking _legend_. It felt like being contemporary to the death of Merlin himself.

She didn’t add that Snape had murdered Dumbledore in cold blood, because Tony looked utterly crestfallen. Obviously, he hadn't expected that. Evey sat up and hugged him. He was always so good at making her feel better whenever she was down or angry or frustrated. She wracked her brain for potentially happier topics, and her eyes fell on Tonks’s flashy pink hair. It’d been a mousy grey earlier that night. "Thankfully, at least one good thing happened tonight," she finally told Tony in an effort to cheer him up a bit.

He looked down at her glumly. "Yeah, Gibbon's dead, I saw that. Should we really rejoice over that, though?"

Evey shook her head. "Not that." She pointed toward Remus and Tonks. Remus was holding her waist and murmuring in her ear. "That," Evey said with a small grin.

Tony scoffed, but there was the faintest trace of a smile on his bloodied, youthful face. "About damn time."


	67. The greediest wishes cause the greatest sorrows

_"For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, but forfeit his soul?"_

_A long, long time ago…_

In the beginning there were only three. But the three soon became four, and she who joined them last was Ellessin. Malkoran was so moved by her beauty and cunning that, instead of taking her as a slave, as they oft did, he offered her a place at their side.

For in those days they were the masters of all, wherever they went; even to the edges of the world, where the land meets the unfathomable seas. Their very names struck fear and dread in the hearts of even the hardiest of men. In the millennia before the Common Era, they were named Malkoran and Ellessin, Samyaza and Namtar.

Famine and Death, Pestilence and War, the Four Horsemen, as they were known in present days, for their story had, much later, been turned into myth and legend, and blended with religious nonsense.

They were gods – or so they called themselves. But to be gods in truth, they lacked an essential trait, for they were not eternal. Mere mortals were they, and soon they set out to obtain immortality.

They travelled far and long to reach their destination, and there they met the one they sought: the Ancient Seer, a woman said to be as old as the world itself. And old she was, for her black skin was leathery and much wrinkled; and her hair, so fine and white, was like a cloud upon her brow. Her gnarled limbs did no longer permit her to rise from her cot, and she had no teeth. And yet she was very much alive, and her deep voice was strong and did not tremble. "You have come at last," she said as her great-granddaughter led them inside her hut.

The four looked at each other in surprise, but it was a pleasant surprise: she was a Seer indeed, and they had not been led astray. "O Ancient One, we have come a great distance to benefit from your knowledge and wisdom," Namtar intoned. "Tell us, Seer, how shall we achieve our objective?"

It was a test, of course. If she didn't know what their objective was…

"Only the gods may grant you immortality," the crone replied without hesitation. There was a malicious gleam in her black eyes.

"And how may one commune with the gods?" Samyaza asked, her pretty, delicate face alight with eagerness. "How do we summon them to us?"

"Summon them?" the Seer scoffed. "Who are you to summon the gods, child?"

"We are the Rulers of the World," Malkoran retorted haughtily. "The gods must have heard tales of our deeds, as all men have."

The old woman's cackle was a daunting sound. "The gods do not concern themselves with the affairs of mortals."

"Is there then no way to communicate with them?" Ellessin asked, despair rising. "None at all?"

The Seer remained silent for a long moment, eyes closed, so long that they thought she must have gone to sleep. But her eyes flew open as Namtar approached her, and she grinned a toothless grin. "If one truly wished to do so…" She paused then, and Samyaza, impatient as ever, unsheathed her dagger, and moved closer to the crone. Malkoran held her arm, however, and hushed her when she tried to protest. "No mortal man has ever lived to tell of his encounter with the gods," the Seer continued, heedless of the blade in Sam's hand.

"We have lived through more in the past decade than any man ever will in a lifetime," Namtar said angrily. "We have earned the right to demand a boon from them."

The old woman smiled again at that, a chilling smile that sent unbidden shivers down Ellessin's spine.

"Now tell us what we wish to know, you withered hag," Samyaza demanded imperiously, waving her dagger threateningly.

"Indeed," the bed-ridden crone said sweetly, "there is a way. The gods might be inclined to answer your pleas if you were to provide a sacrifice of sufficient worth."

Malkoran scowled. "Have we not provided enough sacrifices over the course of the years? We have spilled the blood of hundreds!"

The Seer gestured dismissively to denote the insignificance of his words. "Puny weaklings of little value. That will accomplish nothing, Malkoran Devandar." Malkoran's eyes widened slightly at the mention of his full name. _Devan_ had been the name of his sire, the - _dar_ suffix added to mean 'son of'. Last names were not common, in those days, and rarely used when they existed.

"The only worthy people in the world are _ourselves_ , Wise One. Your advice is therefore useless, for sacrificing ourselves would rather defeat the purpose, would it not?" Namtar told her with an unpleasant smirk.

"Let us be away," Samyaza declared suddenly. "The woman has obviously lost her mind – she speaks only in riddles. We will not find our answer here, my friends."

The Seer's evil cackle followed them out of the hut.

* * *

That night, long after Samyaza and Namtar had retired into their tent, Malkoran spoke quietly. "You understand what this means, do you not?" His brown eyes were fixed on the crackling fire, the reflected light of the flames dancing wildly across his irises.

"Of course I do. I am not stupid," Ellessin replied curtly.

"They might be having the same conversation as we speak, my love. Although they never were fast thinkers, it is true, not like you and I." He turned his keen gaze on her. "We cannot delay. The prize will be granted to those who act first."

"Then let us not waste any time," Ellessin said, standing up and unsheathing her dagger.

"Now?" Malkoran asked, frowning. "While they sleep?" Even to him, who had murdered countless innocent souls in cold blood, the thought of killing their companions, unarmed and unprepared, was shocking. Mal had a foolish, twisted notion of honour.

Ellessin huffed in annoyance. "Would you rather find a blade sticking out of your chest when you wake? There is no time to waste, my heart."

Malkoran nodded eventually, and they set out into the night, the bright moonlight turning Ellessin's raven black hair a silvery white.

* * *

Samyaza and Namtar were bound and gagged, and brought out of their tent. Despite being asleep and taken by surprise, Sam had managed to cut a deep gash in Elle's thigh, and Namtar had almost smashed Mal's teeth, but in the end the traitors prevailed.

There were no rituals, no written mantras, not in those days. They had to improvise. They gutted Samyaza, spilling her entrails upon the earth, and Malkoran detached Namtar's head from its neck with one swift stroke of his short sword. They burned various leaves and herbs in the fire, and for hours they chanted, words of summons and praise, of appeal and awe, until their throats were sore. They persevered, deep into the night.

And finally They came; not from the Heavens, as the betrayers expected, but from the bottomless pits below the surface of the Earth. The ground split beneath their feet with a crumbling sound, swallowing the corpses of the ones they had called friends for over thirteen years.

And She who came first was Lilith, who appeared to Ellessin as a woman clad in red and black; and Her gown was misty and constantly changeable in shape; and Her eyes were filled with pure darkness. And She was beautiful, so beautiful that Elle feared for her sight; and She was terrible to behold, a figure of might and sheer magnificence. Feeling suddenly weak, Ellessin fell to her knees, prostrating herself at the demon's feet, unable to look upon Lilith's infernal body. She wept in terror, for she knew now that the Seer had tricked them. The old woman assuredly was a demon-worshipper, feeding power-hungry fools to the false gods of the Netherworld.

In her distress, Elle caught no glimpse of He who appeared to Malkoran, the demon Fenrir – He who had, by a twisted irony, been turned into a mythological figure of god-like importance, centuries later. Mal never said a word about what transpired between him and the beastly demon, save that their encounter was one he'd rather erase from his memory.

And Lilith said unto her: "I greatly enjoyed watching you perform that pitiful ceremonial, little human. It pleases me that you have betrayed and sacrificed two so close to your heart to achieve your purpose. Rarely have I witnessed such evil, even committed by one of your kind. You amuse me, and have indeed accomplished the improbable in doing so. I shall therefore reward your efforts." She raised a graceful hand, and a great chill came over Elle, and she fell flat to the ground, quivering, her body twisting under the strain and the terrible pain. "You shall receive what you yearned for: eternal life, from which you shall never be released, even should you beg for it. Endless solitude, an unyielding curse. And in your loneliness, in irrational despair, you shall doom others." Lilith laughed then, and the sound was enough to freeze Elle's blood in her veins. Her heart stopped beating; she couldn't breathe. "And this man whom you hold so dear in your black, wicked heart," – and at this Lilith indicated the space where Malkoran must lie; at this point Ellessin had almost forgotten that he even existed – "shall be your salvation as well as your bane."

And then, as abruptly as She had arisen, Lilith vanished.

When Ellessin finally came to her senses, minutes or hours later, she couldn't tell for certain, Malkoran was lying flat on his back, eyes staring at the lightening sky, for dawn was upon them. For a moment Elle feared that he was dead, but he blinked when she knelt at his side and turned his face to hers. His eyes, once a dark brown, were now as golden as sand under the blazing sun. Noting the alarm in her features, Malkoran stroked Elle's cheek in reassurance and smiled triumphantly. "It is done."

* * *

They soon discovered that they had been granted more than they petitioned for. They were stronger than any human, faster and more agile; but Mal now craved the flesh of men, and Elle their blood. The mortals they preyed upon – the few who survived – were transformed in their image, although they were but pale copies.

No wounds, no matter how grievous, could do them lasting harm, for they healed instantly. They were not only immortal, but indestructible. They had paid dearly for this ultimate prize, for they had committed the most treacherous perfidy, but indeed it seemed that the reward was worth the cost. They were now gods in truth, gods made flesh, and free to roam the world and rule it as they willed.

But the euphoria was short-lived.

For years they lived as king and queen of the known world, and enjoyed the many pleasures everlasting life had to offer, and they prospered, Lilith's words of foreboding and impending doom forgotten for a while as the memory of their encounter with the demons faded in their minds.

But then Malkoran committed the greatest crime of all: he broke Ellessin's heart.

' _Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'_ : truer words were never written, and yet they were only devised millennia after the appalling deed was perpetrated.

Upon finding Malkoran in the naked arms of another woman, Elle reacted without thinking: she slayed her rival, slicing her throat open with her dagger and then, discarding the blade, she threw herself at Malkoran, biting and scratching. He did nothing to stop her. He knew he was at fault, and accepted the punishment.

But they were both surprised to see that Malkoran didn't recover from the wounds that Ellessin inflicted. Indeed the marks remained, and he bled.

Shocked, Elle took a step backwards, and contemplated the man who held her heart; and she understood then Lilith's words. Only she could undo him, and he her. He was her bane and her salvation.

Despite her rage and sorrow and grief at the loss of their love, she could not bear to do him harm; no lasting harm, in any case.

So Ellessin fled.

For years she wandered aimlessly, and she soon realised that the world was larger than they had assumed; indeed, there were other lands beyond the frightening seas and immense mountains. For she could fly, and she explored the Earth in all its grandeur and diversity. And she met people in her travels, but ever she hid from their sight, for none could understand what she was, what she had become, and all feared her and abandoned her the moment she revealed herself to them.

Centuries passed before Ellessin finally gave in to the urge that pressed her to pass on the gift that was also her curse; for she saw now that Lilith had known all along of the crippling loneliness and misery that would sooner or later assail her heart.

It all began in Memphis, in the land known as Egypt, in the days of the Old Kingdom, as it is now called. It was there that Ellessin, the Original Vampire, Accursed Daughter of Lilith, encountered Imhotep, the first of her children, another naïve mortal who believed he could summon the gods and live to tell the tale.

Ellessin saved his life and ruined it all at once. His life, and too many others afterwards.


	68. If you be the one to cut me, I will bleed forever

Tibet. What was Malkoran doing in _Tibet_ , of all places? According to Hannibal, their Alpha lived in a temple nestled somewhere in the Kunlun mountain range. Talk about easy access. Ellessin had had to _fly_ to the cursed mountains where he currently resided.

A temple. Honestly.

In any case, it was no wonder that Mal couldn't be reached by common means of communication. There was no signal here. Most likely, there was no electricity or running water, either. Obviously, Malkoran was stuck in the past and refused to move forward into the modern world.

Ellessin landed at the base of a long, windy staircase. The climb would hopefully give her some time to settle her nerves. She felt jittery, like a mortal of this age with too much caffeine in their system.

The very thought of Malkoran, or anything even vaguely pertaining to him, usually caused her to fly into a mindless rage, even after all these years without actually seeing him. Now that she was about to meet with him, though, she felt more nervous than angry. And _that_ made her feel frustrated and annoyed with herself. She wasn't a schoolgirl with a frivolous crush; she was a broken-hearted mother lusting for revenge. She ought to behave as one.

Maybe she should have had some coffee. Unlike her children, Ellessin was able to ingest both liquid and solid food, though she had no need for either, and rarely had a craving for it. Besides, caffeine had no effect on her, no more than alcoholic beverages or drugs did. Nothing could soothe her.

Was she at the top of the stairs already? Dear gods.

She paused for a moment. Good thing she didn’t have a functioning heart, because it would have been pounding. If she’d been human at all, she would have felt light-headed.

_Get a grip, you silly, overdramatic crone_ , Elle berated herself. She started moving again, with determination and purpose.

She walked across a cultivated little garden near the entrance of the temple, and she was about to barge through the front gate when someone called her name.

"Elle?" It was a soft, accented voice. A voice she hadn't heard in ages. _Literal_ ages.

_Lilith help me. He’s really here.  
_

Ellessin took a deep breath and composed herself before turning to face him. _Remember the purpose of your visit. This is not about past betrayals. Don’t let him get under your skin._

Malkoran had a rusty watering can at his feet, a gardening tool in one hand, and seemed to be tending to the vegetable patch. Gods, this was ridiculous. He was dressed like a damned monk, with faded yellow robes and a maroon hood, which he slowly pushed back.

His head was shaved bald and his once scruffy beard was gone. Apart from that, he was still the same man Elle had known from early adulthood, tall and lean and beautiful. His face still bore the marks of their last encounter, his left cheek badly scarred where Elle had raked her long nails. His sparkling honey-coloured eyes reflected his puzzlement.

Hannibal clearly hadn't warned him of her impromptu visit, though he'd promised he would. That didn't bode well.

"Malkoran," Elle replied casually, as if their last meeting had not taken place millennia ago, and had not ended with her almost tearing him apart.

"You look ravishing." His breath hitched in his throat as he spoke.

Curse the bloody man! Elle had been here less than a minute and already she felt like strangling him. She smoothed her dress to give herself time to control her emotions. She’d unconsciously picked a white garment, she noticed at that moment. His favourite colour. The thought certainly did nothing to help suppress her emotions.

"I will not ask how you found me," Malkoran went on, discarding his gardening implements and taking a few cautious steps in her direction. "I am sure that Hannibal had his reasons. Not that I was hiding from you-"

"You don't know, do you?" Ellessin thundered. Apparently, Hannibal hadn't told him _anything_. Mal stopped dead in his tracks and recoiled slightly at her vehemence. "Your demented cub killed my daughter!" Well, at least she wasn’t anxious any longer. She shook with fury instead. This was all Malkoran’s fault. If he'd been around, if he'd taken his responsibilities, if he'd _cared_ , even a little, none of this would have happened. He was still the same selfish bastard he'd always been.

"Elle, I am sorry, but I have not the faintest idea what you are talking about."

"That fucking Greyback freak murdered my child, my precious little girl. My Jeanne." Elle rarely swore, let alone aloud, but it was warranted, in this instance. Jeanne would have appreciated the sentiment, surely. "You useless sod. How could you let your cubs go astray so? I blame _you_ , Mal. Greyback shouldn't even _exist_. He's a monster."

"Aren't we all?" he murmured fatalistically.

By Lilith, she _was_ going to strangle him. "Mal," Elle said, clinging to the few meagre shreds of calm that remained to her, "you have no control over your spawns. They have run amok. You have to reassert your position. If you do not, I will have to retaliate. You would leave me no choice."

"Why have you not retaliated already?" he wondered. He sounded genuinely confused. "It is not like you. Why do you seek my permission?"

"Your _permission_?" Elle almost choked on the word. "I don't need your permission, you self-centred git! I am doing you a favour by coming here. This is a formal warning, and I must urge you to find the damned beast before he does any more damage."

Malkoran eyed her shrewdly. "Something is most certainly amiss. I could understand that you have trouble finding him, but you hardly need me for that, as you obviously have the help of my Wolves. Some of them, at least. And yet you would not bother to have a semblance of civil conversation with me unless you needed something from me." He cocked his head, as if hoping to solve a puzzle by looking at it from a different perspective. "Name it, Elle. If it is in my power, whatever it may be, I will give it to you."

"You fool," she said through clenched teeth. "You never listen. I have already told you what I want! Rein your cubs back, arrest Greyback, place him under our care and let us lock him up for good." She would have gladly ripped Greyback's corrupt heart out of his chest herself, but there was still Evangeline to consider. Ellessin had given the matter some serious thought before undertaking this journey to the far east – and to her long-buried past.

She had decided that Greyback should be kept in a highly-secure location, from which he could never escape, under the watchful eyes of her own people. That would have to be punishment enough, for the time being, and it would ensure Evangeline’s safety besides, at least until the wizards figured out a way to…disconnect her from the Wolf.

After that, though, Greyback would be fair game. If not for Evangeline, Elle would have made minced meat out of him already. Well, she would have if she knew where the coward was holing up, anyway.

"I mean it, Mal,” Elle went on. “Don't make me go after the others." She hated to say it, but the rest of the Wolves were expendable, as far as Ellessin was concerned, although she wouldn't kill anyone unless she was forced to do it. Her days of slaying people in cold-blood just for the sake of it were behind her.

Malkoran studied her for a long moment in silent contemplation. "So you would harm the others and risk an open war, but you will not harm Greyback,” he said eventually. “What is so special about him?"

Elle was damned if she would tell him. She couldn't trust him with that knowledge. Gods, she couldn't trust him with _anything_ , but she had no choice but to rely on him to locate Greyback’s new lair. Hannibal and his cronies had made it clear that only their Alpha could make a decision regarding Greyback’s fate. They would do nothing without Mal’s consent, not after the Rasputin debacle. "There is nothing _special_ about him,” she rasped. “Malkoran, will you do this for me, or not? If you will not, let it be known that I will take matters into my own hands, and I promise you, you will _not_ like the results.” She hoped it would not come to that. Malkoran may not care, but his lieutenants did. If the Ancients started killing Wolves until Greyback surrendered, there would be war. There would be no avoiding it.

And yet it would be her only option, if Mal refused to take part. Ellessin could not simply forget – let alone forgive – what happened to Jeanne. She deserved justice for the death of her daughter.

Malkoran remained stubbornly silent. There wasn't much more Elle could do or say. If Mal did not feel bad at all for Jeanne’s murder, if he did not feel responsible for it in any way, as Elle had hoped he would, there was nothing else she could do about it. She had no leverage, and Malkoran must have realised that, if his keen look was any indication. Though she could simply attack him, she supposed…

No. The idea was appealing, but it would not be helpful. Hurting him the first time had briefly appeased her temper, but horror at what she’d done had quickly replaced the grim satisfaction that the sight of his blood had brought.

Besides, there was a good chance that he was stronger than she was. Wolves were naturally stronger than Ancients, though the vampires were faster.

Coming here had been a serious mistake. Malkoran was a lost cause. There was nothing left of the man he used to be. Ellessin turned to leave and made her way toward the stairs. She would appeal to Hannibal and the others one last time, but if negotiations failed, the Ancients would have to find Greyback on their own, and they would have to do it the hard way – they needed to lure him out of his hideout, either by eliminating every single Wolf there was and hoping he would care or, as a last resort solution, by using Evangeline as a live bait.

Blackbeard would be the first to die. He was, after all, partly responsible for this whole mess. His unstable progeny had begotten an even more unstable Wolf. If not for him-

"If I find Greyback for you, will you put an end to it?" Mal whispered as Elle took a first step down the long flight of stairs. She hadn’t realised that he’d followed her.

"An end to what?" she asked with a frown, facing him once more, hands on her hips.

"Why, an end to this curse, of course." His golden eyes didn’t blink once as he spoke, staring at her with an intensity she remembered all too well.

"You want to summon _them_ again? Ask them…what, to take your Wolfishness away? Are you out of your mind?" He couldn't be serious. Ellessin would sooner burn the whole world to the ground than summon Lilith again. The result might be the same, in any case.

Malkoran chuckled sadly. "Even now, death is not an alternative to you," he said. "No, my heart. I want you to kill me."

* * *

Mal could not stop staring at Elle in wonder. Each line of her beautiful face was etched upon his memory, each curve of her body, and yet to see her with his own two eyes…

Gods be praised, she truly was here. She remembered him. After all this time, Mal had assumed that Elle would have forgotten about him, dismissed him as one dismisses a former flame of little import, especially after what Mal had done.

But she was here, and she was clearly still furious with him. This was more than he could have hoped for.

Well, she had not come for him, not exactly. She was after Greyback.

Him again. Mal had heard that name many times over the last few months, too many times. He was beginning to regret leaving his cubs to fend for themselves but, truth be told, he had expected Ramesses, William and Hannibal to keep an eye on things for him. They were more capable and reliable than Malkoran was, more than he could ever hope to be. That was why he had chosen them in the first place; not to rival Ellessin’s children, but to unburden him as much as possible. They had proved him right by handling the Goldeneyes situation, some decades ago, though Malkoran had no idea what they had done with him. His only command had been to let Grigori live, but he had not enquired about the details of the cub’s forced exile.

If his trusted lieutenants could be believed, Greyback – once known as Damian Wilk, a complete nobody, as far as Mal knew – apparently refused to embrace his given alias, and chose instead to call himself…

No. Even in thought, Malkoran was reluctant to name _him_.

What was worse, Greyback, as all Wolves, was aware of their origin story. He should know better. It was a wonder that the demon had allowed the cub to “borrow” his name as long as he had. Greyback would be punished for his impudence, one way or another; if not in this life, then in the next one.

And if Greyback had truly taken an immortal life…if he’d killed one of Lilith’s children… Yes, it was a wonder that he was still alive. The only explanation that made sense to Malkoran was that the demons could not meddle without first being summoned.

He would never put that theory to the test, though.

In any case, Ellessin had every right to be angry. She had always considered these…Ancients, as they now called themselves, like her own children – which they were, Mal supposed. The next thing to it, anyway.

Ellessin was glowering at him, her black eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?” She had obviously heard his words – despite the harsh mountain winds, her hearing was as sharp as his – but she could not fathom them.

_I want you to kill me._ Malkoran could not be any clearer than that.

"Over the years," he said softly, "I have appealed to some of your people to do me that one paltry favour. They all refused, even the Ripper, whose profession it is to kill men in exchange for money; even sweet, compassionate Gorgo, who claimed that you would never forgive her if she did this. I doubted her, but I see now that she was correct in assuming that."

His first thought had been that Elle would never forgive such an act because she wanted to kill Mal herself, some day, when she deemed that he had been punished long enough for his crime. Occasionally, though, he caught himself hoping that she would never forgive it because, deep down, she still cared for him.

It was a bit far-fetched, admittedly, but hope was the last, frayed thread that kept Malkoran tied to sanity.

Elle snorted in disdain. "Do you believe that they would dare keep this…request of yours a secret from me?”

Mal regarded her attentively. Her expression was well-guarded, her eyes like two onyx stones, but he knew her better than she thought. She was lying. He did not call her out on it, however. It would serve no purpose.

“They know very little of our history, and I intend to keep it that way," Elle added. She looked pensive all of a sudden, her ageless gaze lost in the past. "There's much I've forgotten, Malkoran. I don’t remember my mother's face. My encounter with Lady Lilith is a blur, like a bad dream fading away as one awakes. But that day, what you did... It’s so vivid in my memory, it could have happened yesterday. You _destroyed_ me, Mal." That last part was a bare whisper, so low than even he had to strain his ears to catch it.

"Good," he murmured. "Then there is hope for me yet."

" _Hope_?!" Elle repeated incredulously.

"If it makes you this angry, even after all those years, it must mean that you still care for me,” he explained matter-of-factly. It was not wishful thinking, was it? It was perfectly reasonable to assume-

"Care for you?" she scoffed. "You must have lost your mind. You think too highly of yourself, Mal. I have moved on. Believe me, I have. You are _nothing_ to me. If not for my present…plight, I would have happily lived the rest of eternity without ever laying eyes on you again."

The words hurt, but he knew that she was only deluding herself. She was stubborn, his Elle, and prideful. She always had been. Malkoran decided to humour her. "Then I assume it will be no problem for you to accede to my...request. Provided that I find my undesirable offspring and hand him over to you unconditionally," he added quickly, before she erupted like the Vesuvius did, back in the day. "But I must warn you, Elle: I am not more likely to locate Greyback than you are. I cannot simply summon him to me, as you would your own children, and even if I somehow tracked him down, I have no power over him. Or over any of them, for that matter. That is not an exaggeration, my love.” Her eyes flashed dangerously, but Malkoran ignored it. She was his love; she always had been, and always would be. “I truly do not. I am their Alpha no longer." He sighed regretfully. Truly, he wanted nothing more than to please her, to soothe her grief and pain in any way he could, but this was a lost cause. "Moreover, I do not know Greyback’s scent, nor even what he looks like. I have never met him. He was turned well after I…retired."

"But your Wolves know him," Elle retorted sharply. "Go to them, you idiot. Reclaim your rightful place among them.” She shook her head, her mass of raven curls rippling over her shoulders. It was odd to see her without her trademark braid – then again, perhaps it was her trademark no longer. Were braids still fashionable in this doomed era? “You used to be so resourceful, so full of energy. You used to be a leader of men, Mal. What happened to you, you apathetic oaf?"

"Fenrir happened," he replied quietly. A shiver ran down his back as he said the horror-inspiring name. At his naked feet, several plants withered and died. The demon may not be able to show himself in his true form without being properly summoned, but he could still influence the surface world somewhat.

His reply was not a lie, but it was not quite true, either. His encounter with the demon had rattled him, admittedly – it had shaken him to his very core, so badly that he still had nightmares about it – but his life had been more than pleasant once he’d recovered from the shock. For a time, Ellessin and Malkoran had had the whole world at their feet. Mal was the one who had ruined it all. He knew it perfectly well, and so did Elle. And now she was taking advantage of that knowledge. She knew how to manipulate him, and Mal knew every single one of her tactics. He had long ago decided that it was simpler (and less painful) to let her have her way.

Elle sniffed haughtily. "Of course, blame it all on the demon. Wherever he dwells, he must be the subject of many cruel jibes for ever transcending you, the poor bastard."

Mal stiffened. That was hardly fair. He hadn’t asked for this, for this thrice-damned curse that had been plaguing him for thousands of years. The Seer had tricked them, and the demons had done what they did best: they had unleashed evil upon the earth, using Ellessin and Malkoran as their tainted vessels. And that wasn’t even the worst part. Malkoran could have lived with that, if only Elle had stood by his side. But no; Mal had condemned _himself_ to a loveless, endless life. “I will do whatever I can to help, dearest, but-"

Elle waved his defence aside. “No more excuses. Reunite your pack. Find Greyback, and bring him to me. No harm will be done to him, this I promise. _We_ are not lawless savages.”

Oddly, she seemed to be telling the truth. Why did she insist on taking the cub alive? She had a right to demand his life in return for her daughter’s. Malkoran would expect the same, were the situation reversed.

Something was most definitely amiss. Elle was withholding information from him. Mal couldn’t exactly blame her for that, though. She had no reason to trust him.

Ellessin scowled deeply when he did not formulate a protest. "As for killing you, I most certainly will not do it, and I will _remind_ my children that it is expressly forbidden. You owe me this one favour, Mal, but I don't owe _you_ anything." She turned around once more and took a few more graceful steps down the uneven stairs. "I trust that you will not disappoint me. Again. Much depends on this. Hannibal will know where to find me, when you have accomplished your task." With that, she spread her arms wide and flew out in the bright blue sky, then turned into an eagle and soon disappeared from his sight.


	69. Do not stand at my grave and weep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Whoops, it's been two weeks since the last update... Sorry about that. Here's a long chapter in compensation.]

Evey sat on a golden chair in the last row, nearly a hundred meters away from the table where the body of Albus Dumbledore, covered in purple velvet, rested.

Walden was talking to a young woman, two rows forward. Evey had no idea who she was, but Walden seemed utterly engrossed in his hushed conversation with her, so Evey didn’t walk over to enquire. Unlike her husband, she had no problem with him talking to a person of the opposite sex.

No matter how unusual it was for him to socialise without being forced into it.

Walden hadn’t wanted to come to the funeral at all. He claimed that it was risky, knowing that Death Eaters – and Greyback – had been able to break into the castle once already.

Tony had voiced no argument. He was still in shock, and Evey couldn’t blame him. He was seated to her left, hands in his lap, head turned toward the Black Lake, seemingly lost in thought. He hadn’t spoken much since Jeanne had died.

Evey wasn’t worried about Greyback abducting her here and now; he’d be insane to attempt anything, with Evey being surrounded by hundreds of acclaimed witches and wizards, not to mention a giant, two half-giants, merpeople, vampires, and a herd of centaurs. And even if she’d been anywhere else… Would he truly risk it? Were she Greyback, she’d keep a low profile for a while. He had to know that the Ancients would be on the warpath, after what he did to Jeanne.

Evey still had trouble coming to terms with it. She hadn’t known Jeanne for very long, or any of the Ancients for that matter, and she didn’t like her one bit, but it was disturbing to think – to _know_ – that they could die. She’d accepted the fact of their immortality without much hesitation, but accepting that they could be killed was beyond her.

It was Evey’s fault, of course. If she’d heeded Jeanne… If she’d done the right thing, if she wasn’t such a bloody coward, even now… She could end this at any moment, if she decided to. She hadn’t mentioned this to Walden or Tony, but she had given serious thought to putting an end to the carnage once and for all. It was Ted who had convinced her otherwise; he claimed that until they had a visual on Greyback, sacrificing her life was pointless. For all they knew, Greyback would regenerate, even if an Ancient bit Evey. She couldn’t do something like this without proper guarantee that it wasn’t in vain. Walden would never forgive her.

And yet she couldn’t help but dwell on Jeanne’s death, and poor Bill… Gods. His face would never be the same again.

It was all Evey’s fault. It was her fault that Tony looked like a depressed Inferius. He’d never actually looked undead before, but now he was nothing like the man she’d come to know and love over the past two years. By allowing Greyback to live and kill Jeanne, she’d ruined him. She’d ruined her best friend’s life.

Death. Unlife. Whatever.

Someone put a hand on her shoulder, startling her. Everyone was slowly migrating toward the Great Hall, she realised. The eulogy was over – nearly two dozen people had wished to honour the fallen Headmaster with a speech, including the famous half-vampire Elvis Presley, who’d composed a brand new song for the occasion, ‘My Pal Al’. There was now a white tomb where Dumbledore’s body had lain minutes ago.

Evey glanced behind her, though she knew who’d tapped her shoulder; her husband was the only person who had a hand made out of sycamore wood, as far as she was aware. She tried for a smile, but it was a feeble attempt. She’d never felt more disheartened in her entire life. “Hey.” Then she noticed the same woman whom Walden had been talking to earlier, standing a few steps behind him. She was a lot prettier than Evey had assumed, just from seeing the back of her.

Not that it mattered. “Um, hi,” Evey added hesitantly.

“Evey, this is Morgana Zhang,” Walden introduced them. “Morgana, this is Evangeline.”

Tony, who’d been staring bleakly at the lake, suddenly turned to look at the woman. His eyes widened in surprise. “Morgana?” he repeated.

She smiled shyly. “Antonin. Long time no see.”

“How… I mean, why… Um, what are you doing here?” At that moment, Tony seemed to remember what _everyone_ was doing here and cleared his throat in embarrassment.

Evey grinned at his discomfort. She was willing to bet that he would have blushed, if he could. Who _was_ this woman? A former flame? She seemed a bit young for that; she couldn’t be more than thirty. “So…” Evey said, “Morgana, how do you know these two weirdos?”

“It’s a…long story.” She eyed Walden sideways. “Does she know about…?”

“Oh yeah, she knows everything there is to know. Evey’s my wife, actually.” Uh. He was only telling her now?

Not that it mattered.

“That’s great!” Morgana exclaimed. “I’m so happy for you.” She gave Evey a genuine smile. “Well, your husband saved my life. He and Tony did.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Tony muttered.

“Don’t be modest! You did. You-Know-Who and his partisans would have killed me, if you two hadn’t helped me escape. At great peril to your own lives,” Morgana added gravely. “You married a very brave man, Evangeline,” she went on. “A good man.”

“I wouldn’t have married a nasty coward of a man,” Evey said reasonably. Morgana chuckled when Walden coughed self-consciously.

“Anyway,” Walden said, quickly changing the subject. “This is the wildest coincidence, but Morgana is actually filling in for me as Warden.”

“No way!” Evey exclaimed. “Merlin, you’re so lucky! I’ve been pestering him about becoming his apprentice for years.”

Morgana laughed again. “Funny story, but I applied for an apprenticeship and it was denied without further explanation,” she said with mock reproach. “If I’d known all I had to do was marry him…”

Evey snorted. “That took a great deal of pestering as well.” Well, not the marriage part, in truth, but her husband understood what she meant. He had been quite reluctant to date her in the first place. Walden looked like he wished he could disappear under the ground. “Hey, maybe you could keep the job and take me in as a trainee,” Evey told Morgana enthusiastically.

“I could definitely use an extra wand. But, um, I wouldn’t want to steal Walden’s job…”

“We could divide the area and work together,” Walden offered, somewhat apprehensively.

“Colour me impressed,” Evey marvelled. “Walden Macnair, Warden extraordinaire, is willing to share his territory and allow other people to handle his pets.”

“I have to say, this day has taken a very different turn from what I expected,” Morgana said.

“Tell me about it,” Tony said. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of her. Which meant, in all likelihood, that Morgana was more than merely pretty. Tony was extremely picky – and perhaps a bit shallow, too focused on physical appearance rather than personality – when it came to women.

For some reason, the realisation that Tony found Morgana to his taste made Evey strangely uneasy, though she concealed it expertly. He had every right to feel attracted to beautiful women, and gods knew he could use some distraction right now.

“Well, in any case, work will have to wait until we’ve dealt with our…currently unresolved issues,” Walden said. It was one thing to leave the safety of the wards to attend Dumbledore’s funeral, but going back to work was another matter entirely. Evey wasn’t going to argue with that.

“What issues?” Morgana asked curiously.

The men exchanged uncomfortable glances. They had a tendency to communicate by expressive looks, but Evey was getting better at deciphering them. They may have saved Morgana’s life when she was a teenager, but they didn’t _know_ her. They had no reason to trust her.

“Aw, come on,” Evey said. “She’s not likely to be a spy for Vol…I mean, You-Know-Who.” Over her years as a witch, she’d learned to use Voldemort’s sobriquet around strangers. She couldn’t understand it, but it obviously distressed a lot of people to call him by his chosen name, and Evey didn’t want to upset people needlessly. Merlin knew, she had enough trouble making friends as it was, especially at school. Though if Evey had been popular enough to start a trend, she would have called him Tom instead. How could anyone be afraid of a villain named Tom? Dumbledore should have thought of that.

It was too late now. His death would only increase the wizarding world’s fear of the Dark Lord.

Morgana looked deadly serious. Evey hoped that she hadn’t offended her by stating what she thought to be obvious. “I would rather die than serve that horrible snake,” she said viciously. Her anger seemed directed at Voldemort rather than at Evey, thankfully. “In fact, I’m considering joining the Order of the Phoenix. Any idea who I should talk to about that?”

Evey looked around, trying to find a familiar face in the quiet crowd. She spotted Hagrid, but the Gamekeeper was sobbing heavily, his large head nestled on Madam Maxim’s equally large shoulder. There was Kingsley, a few meters away. “That guy,” she told Morgana, pointing at him. “I suppose he’ll be our acting leader now that Dumbledore…” She trailed off, unwilling to finish that sentence.

Morgana nodded in understanding. “Thanks. I’ll go talk to him now. It was great seeing you again, guys. Evey, it was a pleasure meeting you.” They shook hands. “Until next time.” She walked away, waving at them with a smile.

“Bye,” Tony said, a minute too late. He looked entranced.

“I’m guessing you helped her escape ‘at great peril to your life’ because you have a massive crush on her?” Evey asked him with a crooked grin.

He frowned, then glanced at Evey, as though surprised to see her here. “What? Morgana? Phaw! No way! She’s just a kid.”

“She’s older than me,” Evey remarked. Morgana had been just a girl when Tony and Walden fomented her break-out from Voldemort’s dungeons – which had prompted their ultimate punishment, the one that had changed their lives forever – but she was an adult now. A mature young woman who wasn’t wearing an engagement ring or a wedding band, Evey had noticed.

“Not my fault if Walden’s a cradle-snatcher,” Tony said. Evey could tell that he was holding back a smile. Her heart swelled to see him acting almost like his old self.

“Just a friendly reminder that we’re at a _funeral_ ,” Walden grumbled.

Evey shrugged. “Dumbledore would have been the first person to tell you to move on and laugh rather than cry at his passing.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Walden admitted. He cocked his head, eyeing his brother, who was watching Morgana as she discussed animatedly with Kingsley. “She’s all grown up, huh?” he said slyly. So he’d noticed that she was pretty, then. Uh.

“I do _not_ have a crush on her!” Tony repeated. His sudden grin belied his words, and he quickly ruffled his hair to try to hide it. “Ahem. Anyway. What do we do now?”

“Kingsley has planned an Order meeting tomorrow evening,” Evey reminded him. Kingsley and the few remaining senior members of the Order had held a closed meeting soon after Dumbledore’s demise, but Walden, Tony and Evey had not been invited. She assumed that it had been mostly about trying to figure out how the Death Eaters had penetrated inside the castle unbeknownst to everyone.

Tomorrow’s meeting would take place at the Burrow. It was not considered entirely safe, but safety no longer existed, it seemed, except at Macnair manor, at least for the time being. Unfortunately, they couldn’t afford to invite the entire Order within the wards; not after Snape’s unexpected betrayal. “In the meantime…” Evey went on, “I don’t know. We could flirt with Morgana to pass the time. And by ‘we’ I mean you.”

Tony groaned. “V, leave off,” he said plaintively. “Even if she wanted to date me, and that’s a big ‘if’, what would be the point?”

“The point _is_ to date her, you twit.”

“And then what?”

Evey chortled. “Do you need me to spell it out it for you? You haven’t forgotten how these things work, have you? It hasn’t been _that_ long.”

Tony shook his head. “It’s all about sex to you, you pervert.”

“It’s not!” she scoffed indignantly. “I thought that was all it was about to _you_ , though. I‘m confused, Tony. What exactly is the problem here? You like her, and I’m fairly certain that she likes you.”

“So what, I have sex with her and then I dump her like yesterday’s socks? I don’t want to do that anymore,” he said wistfully.

Walden was staring at him. “Well, colour _me_ impressed.” Evey poked him in the ribs. “What? He’s never dated anyone long enough to actually call it dating.”

“People change, alright?” Tony said. “Plus, it’s Morgana. She’s been through enough shit in her life – her baby brother was murdered by Travers, then she was taken hostage so that Voldemort would have leverage over her parents. She deserves better than the very little I have to offer.”

“Gods, I hate it when men say that,” Evey complained. Walden had told her practically the same thing when they’d started dating. “Who are you to say that? Are you implying that she’s stupid and can’t decide what she wants for herself? I’m not asking you to marry her. Just bloody talk to her. She’s a big girl, she can make up her own mind.”

Walden was shaking with silent laughter. “You should seriously ask Morgana out, mate. If you don’t, Evey will do it for you, and you do _not_ want that, I can assure you.”

Evey rolled her eyes. “This isn’t elementary school. I won’t ask her out for you. But grow a pair, dammit. You’ve been so gloomy and sad, Tony. For your own sake, for _all_ of our sakes, just do it. Please.” She glanced away. “There. She’s done with Kingsley. Go now.”

Tony didn’t move, looking at Morgana with a torn expression. Evey pushed him, and he stumbled forward inelegantly. So much for Ancient grace and balance. Morgana caught sight of the scene and joined them again. “Mr Shacklebolt tells me that I’m not the first person to approach him today. He said he’d consider my application, but it looks like he has a lot on his plate, and no wonder.”

Evey smiled at her encouragingly. “I’m sure he’ll let you know as soon as possible. We certainly need to bolster our ranks.” She turned to Walden. “There are other vampires here, aren’t there?” The question was ridiculously rhetorical. If not for the vampires, the funeral would have been held in daylight. “We should go talk to them. You know, forge some undead alliances.” Walden nodded hastily and, after patting Tony heavily on the back, Evey joined him in search of potential allies.

* * *

Tony shuffled uncomfortably as Morgana took another step closer to him.

She was…cute. Not exactly pretty, not in a conventional way, but cute enough, with deep brown eyes and a bold nose. “So…” she said. “You’re alive after all.”

Tony blinked. Right. He was still supposed to be dead – well, he _was_ , but… Kingsley had decided that it was okay for Tony to be here for the funeral, because he looked so young as to be almost unrecognisable. So far, he’d been correct on that account. Morgana had recognised him right away, but it made sense: Tony looked exactly as he did when she’d last seen him, fifteen or so years ago. “Yeah, don’t believe everything you read in the _Daily Prophet_ ,” he told her with a smile that appeared more confident than Tony felt.

“What happened to you, then?” she asked curiously. “You look so…”

“Handsome?” Morgana laughed. “You want to know the secret to eternal youth and beauty?” Tony went on conspiratorially. “I drink a lot of blood.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re a vampire?” Tony nodded. “Wow, that’s…” She hesitated. “I don’t know, I’ve always had mixed feelings about vampires. They’re so…eerie, so mysterious. Do you like it?”

“What, the blood, or being a vampire?”

“Um…both, I guess,” Morgana said with a chuckle.

“No to both,” he replied truthfully. “Nobody asked my opinion. But I’ve adjusted. It’s been over two years, so…” He shrugged, hopefully in what would appear as a detached manner.

“Two years?” Morgana frowned. “Then how come you look so young? You’re supposed to be…what…thirty-eight, thirty-nine?”

Uh. She was more inquisitive than anyone in the Order. Or maybe she was just smarter. In this instance, it was a bother. Tony didn’t have a believable lie at the ready. “I…um, it’s a…secondary effect. De-aging happens to one vampire in a thousand.”

Morgana gave him a flat look, but didn’t call him out on his bullshit. She must have guessed that he had his reasons to lie, and that they likely pertained to the Order. “Ok, well, lucky you. Some people would kill for this.”

“Yeah.” The awkward silence stretched…and stretched some more. Merlin, this was a disaster. When had he become so terrible at flirting? He was even worse than Walden! Maybe he should have asked Evey to be his wing…woman? “So…um…” _Come on, think of something witty. A question about her life. A comment on the weather. Anything._ “How did you become the new Warden?”

Her face lit up at that. “I simply showed up at the Ministry. You should have seen them! They were desperate. It was troll mating season last year, and it was complete chaos out there in the Cairngorms… When I realised that, I came to enquire about the Warden – I didn’t know it was Walden, by the way. They told me that he’d abandoned his post, and I have a degree in magizoology, so I offered to take on the job. And that was that. Walden never gave sign of life, so the Ministry officially hired me after a few months. It’s difficult to do it all alone, though. I wonder how Walden managed without dying out of sheer exhaustion.”

“Well, he never had any sort of social life,” Tony explained. “And he didn't have a wife, back then.”

“Aw, they’re so adorable together!” Morgana said. “Such a cute couple.”

Yeah. Right. “Uh-huh. Say, um… Well, unfortunately, Walden won’t allow visitors at the manor these days for, um, safety reasons…” _Just go for it. Grow a pair, as Evey put it._ “But I can go outside, if I want to.” He hadn’t wanted to, until then. Being around Walden and Evey – such a _cute_ couple, bleh – had been difficult, but his first priority was to protect Evey. Now, however, Tony had a feeling that Evey was right about Greyback: the Wolf was unlikely to resurface anytime soon. Hopefully they would be able to enjoy a few somewhat less stressful months in the immediate future.

In any case, Ted and Alice were both staying at the manor at the moment. Evey was hardly without protection.

“So, um,” Tony went on, fumbling with his words as though the English language was unfamiliar to him, “would you, maybe, um, like to-”

“I’d love to have a cup of coffee with you some time,” Morgana interrupted him.

Tony blushed inwardly. He was so bad at flirting, girls now had to ask _him_ out. “Great. Er, problem is, we don’t have any owl at home at the moment…” There were many owls in the woods, but none were trained to deliver post.

“Then let me give you my phone number,” Morgana said matter-of-factly. She took a piece of paper out of her purse, then rummaged to find a pen. Tony produced one from his pocket. “Thanks.” She wrote down the number in a large, elegant handwriting. “Here you go. I won’t pick up if I’m…I don’t know, arm-wrestling with a troll or something, but leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can,” she assured him with a dazzling smile.

She wasn’t particularly pretty, but when she smiled like that, it didn’t matter. “Lovely,” Tony said dreamily.

“I have to go,” Morgana informed him. “Work. You know how it is. But I’ll see you soon!”

Tony tried to come up with a proper reply to this very simple sentence, but before his brain could provide one, Morgana was already walking away.

“I’m proud of you,” Evey said a few moments later. “You still got it.” She nudged him playfully in the ribs.

Tony turned to her, and Morgana vanished from his mind. How could anyone be considered pretty, compared to Evey? Merlin, what was he doing? What was he trying to prove? That he wasn’t madly in love with her? That dating even the nicest girl in the world could change that? He was heading straight to disaster, but at least it would allay whatever hypothetical suspicion Evey or Walden may have.

It would certainly hurt Morgana in the long run, though. Tony would have to come up with a good reason to break up with her before it got too serious.

In the meantime, though, Evey had a point: he could certainly use the distraction.

* * *

The Order meeting was held in the Burrow’s living room. The few core members who were still alive were present – Remus and Tonks (who were sharing a chair), Moody, Kingsley and the Weasleys considered old enough to be a part of it, including the future Mrs Weasley, Fleur, who was radiant as always in a yellow sundress.

Evey, Tony and Walden were seated on the couch, Evey between them as usual. Walden had his flesh arm around his wife’s back, and Tony was absent-mindedly fidgeting with one of the cushions.

“Let’s not mince words,” Kingsley said eventually, after nearly everyone had had a chance to taste the biscuits displayed on the coffee table. “It’s bad. Dumbledore gone… Harry refusing to discuss their ‘plan’… He’s only a child. We should-”

“A _child_ who’s accomplished more in his sixteen years of existence than most adults do in their entire lives,” Evey noted. She hated the ‘you’re only a child’ argument. She was barely more than one herself, but so what? Harry and his friends had proved to be more than capable and resourceful in the past. They’d faced Voldemort and his minions several times and had always survived. “Besides, if Dumbledore told him to keep quiet about this, don’t you think he had a good reason?”

“Dumbledore is _dead_ ,” Moody said bluntly.

“That doesn’t mean that his good reason has evaporated,” Evey retorted. “I think we should trust Harry. And Ron, and Hermione. They’re hardly helpless, you know. And if they need our help, they will ask for it. They’re too smart to be stubbornly prideful.”

“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Tonks wondered. “Dumbledore didn’t leave instructions, not for us, beyond the fact that we have to get Harry out of his aunt’s house just before his birthday. The only plan of action we had was to find as many allies as possible. But what do we do with them?”

“We carefully maintain good relationships with them,” Walden said quietly. “There will come a time when we need them. Don’t doubt it.”

“What about you people?” Moody demanded, addressing Tony. “Any success in talking them into-”

“No,” Tony interrupted him, “because I didn’t ask them. And after what happened, I think they have bigger fish to fry than Voldemort.”

“What happened?” Kingsley repeated with a frown. “What are you referring to?”

Oh, right. They didn’t know about Jeanne – they believed that Tony had saved Bill all on his own, and Evey, Walden and Tony had kept Jeanne’s involvement a secret precisely because they feared that the Order would assume that the Ancients were now on their side. Jeanne was only there to protect Tony. She didn’t care about Bill, or anyone else. In the confusion that had followed the battle, no one had noticed her, and her body had vanished barely seconds after Tony had run off.

Tony hesitated. “Greyback…”

“Greyback killed one of the Ancients,” Evey explained curtly. She didn’t say when or why. “So naturally…they’re pretty pissed off about it. We think that he may be in hiding for the time being. Which is why I was allowed to attend the funeral and this meeting, so far away from home.” Walden gave her a sidelong glance, scowling. “So yeah,” Evey went on, ignoring him, “we can forget about the Ancients. Preferably forever.”

“What about the other Wolves?” Bill said. It twisted Evey’s heart to see him like this. She was rather fond of Walden’s various scars, but this was entirely different. “Were they involved in any way?”

“Not at all,” Evey said quickly. “I’m not even sure if they’re aware of the situation.” Only Ted knew, as far as she could tell. The Bloodmother was supposed to have a word with Malkoran, the Wolves’ Alpha, but they hadn’t heard from her yet. Evey assumed that the Mother would summon or at least contact Alice – who was staying with them at the manor – if anything important came up.

“On the bright side,” Walden cut in, eager to change the subject, “we’ve managed to gather a few more allies after the funeral. Two vampires, the Aberdeen werewolf pack, and I’ve also talked with the centaurs and merpeople, and they promised to help however they can at Hogwarts. The centaurs will let us know if they observe suspicious activities in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Who’s going to be Headmaster, now that Dumbledore is dead?” Tony asked. “One of you?” Moody seemed like a good option – Remus was a competent professor, but he was a werewolf, and parents would never accept him as Headmaster. Or it could be Professor McGonagall, Evey supposed. She’d stood in for Dumbledore in the past.

“The Minister will appoint someone,” Kingsley replied. “I have not yet been able to find out if they have anyone in mind, but Minerva McGonagall is the most obvious choice. She has the necessary qualifications and she knows the job.”

“Did you discover how the Death Eaters were able to get inside?” Evey asked.

Kingsley shook his head. “Not yet, unfortunately.”

That didn’t bode well. If the Death Eaters had free access to the castle whenever they wanted… “Do you think it’s safe to keep the school open next year?”

Remus intervened. “I don’t think that the students will be at risk. The Death Eaters were clearly after Dumbledore. Voldemort has no reason to commit mass murder at Hogwarts. His next attack will likely take place at the Ministry – he’ll try to take over and replace Scrimgeour with a partisan or an Imperius-controlled puppet.”

“Scrimgeour is under constant surveillance. I guard him myself as often as possible,” Kingsley explained, “but my primary task is to keep an eye on the Muggle Prime Minister.”

“So…all in all, the situation is not as bad as we could have expected,” Evey summed up.

“It’s far from ideal, but it could be worse,” Remus agreed.

“And Dumbledore’s death apparently prompted many people to join the Order,” Walden said.

Kingsley, Remus and Moody exchanged a look and Tonks cleared her throat. “Well…yes,” she began hesitantly. “But we haven’t actually recruited them. We need to do a thorough background check, magically test them for curses and hexes like the Imperius...”

“In other words, we need to make certain that we’re not inviting more treacherous Snapes into our core group,” Moody said. “And speaking of…”

“We are _not_ testing anyone present, Alastair,” Tonks said firmly. “Dumbledore trusted them… _us_ …”

“He trusted Snape, too,” Moody pointed out. “Snape has been a double agent for too long. In my opinion, his loyalty was always questionable. He never should have had access to sensitive intelligence.” He turned his magical eye on Walden, while the other fixed Tony. “As for these two…”

“Not this again,” Evey growled. “It’s easy to point fingers, but are you even the real Alastair Moody? Do we have tangible proof of that? You’ve been replaced before, and no one batted an eye.”

“Enough!” Tonks exclaimed. “This is exactly what Voldemort wants – to sow mistrust and dissension among us, so we’ll spend more time fighting each other than trying to stop him.”

“Dora is right,” Remus said. “We must assume that everyone in this room is reliable. The new potential recruits will all be investigated before being officially welcomed in the Order. That is what we agreed upon, Alastair,” he went on when the former Auror tried to protest.

“So what do we do now?” Tony asked, echoing Tonks’s earlier question.

Kingsley shrugged. “We cannot retaliate, which means that we have to wait for Voldemort to make his next move. I suggest that we keep doing what we were doing before.”

“We cannot retaliate?” a new voice said. Evey turned toward its owner, Fleur Delacour. Her French accent was somewhat lighter than it used to be, but it still reminded Evey of Jeanne. Given Tony’s stricken expression, he had the same thought. “My husband-to-be was disfigured by that…that…”

“Monster?” Evey supplied.

“ _Oui, exactement!_ That monster attacked him, and now he is out there, free. We must find him and kill-” She took a deep breath, and Bill put an arm on her shoulder. “And arrest him.”

Fleur had not been present during the meeting where they’d revealed Greyback’s true nature, but Evey assumed that Bill had told her all about it; if not before, he must have done it after being wounded by the Wolf. “Greyback can’t be arrested so easily,” Walden said. “And like we said, he’s in hiding. Believe me, we want him found as much as you do,” – _if not more_ , his tone implied – “but right now I think we should focus on Voldemort. And I agree with you. We may not be able to retaliate, but we should take some initiatives instead of meekly awaiting the next blow.”

“And what do you propose?” Kingsley asked, one greying eyebrow raised inquisitively.

That obviously caught Walden off-guard. “Um…well…”

“We’ve already recruited plenty of allies,” Tony said. “Maybe we should explore other possibilities. We’ll look into that and discuss them at the next meeting, alright? Since we have a lot of time to spare and nothing better to do.” He didn’t sound bitter, merely resigned.

They had already considered a few things, but they hadn’t had time to do proper research. In truth, Evey had more or less expected Kingsley to have specific tasks for them, so they hadn’t bothered. But Kingsley seemed just as lost as the rest of them, though he concealed it a tad better. They might have to take matters into their own hands if they wanted anything done.

“Very well,” their acting leader conceded. “I think that the next meeting will be entirely dedicated to planning Harry’s extraction out of his aunt’s house, a task which, as previously established, will not involve the three of you, but we’ll debrief…say, a week after William and Fleur’s wedding. We’ll hear your suggestions then.”

“Sounds good to me,” Evey said.

“In the meantime,” Kingsley said gravely, “everyone please stay safe.”


	70. Let the dead rest, and care for the living

Fenrir reached out to open the curtains and winced at the pain in his shoulder. He wasn’t used to feeling pain on a daily basis, like a bloody mortal, but the wound would heal with time. The bleeding had stopped hours after that French bitch bit him, but the flesh was still an angry red and sore to the touch. It would certainly leave a scar – a scar to match the one on his other shoulder, the one that had transcended him.

He glanced outside the window of his office. It was a pleasant July afternoon, sunny and warm. The children were playing in the gardens, and some of the older cubs were having a game of soccer. Others were seated on the terrace, drinking iced tea and lemonade.

This was one of Grigori’s estates in England. He owned several residences in Great Britain, and none of the other Wolves knew about them. The main building wasn’t quite big enough for Fenrir’s pack – many had to camp out in the gardens – but at least they were safe here. Fenrir had reapplied all of the wards that protected Asgard, with the assistance of a hired dark wizard whom Fenrir had then killed as a precautionary measure.

Fenrir wanted nothing more than to return to Macnair manor and wait until Evangeline finally gave in and stepped outside her own wards, but after killing that Ancient hag in June, he ought to keep a low profile, at least for a few months. The bloodsuckers would be after him, and some of the Wolves, too, including Blackstripes.

Fenrir couldn’t risk it. He didn’t want to end up like his maker.

Truth be told, Fenrir often wondered why he was still alive. The Ancients had been oddly protective of Evangeline since they’d learned of her existence, but didn’t they realise that they could have revenge for the Swindler’s death simply by killing the girl? The vampires were weak, but their leader was considered ruthless. Fenrir always expected his next breath to be the last, but he didn’t live in fear of his imminent death. He wasn’t afraid of dying. He’d accomplished more during his short time on earth than most of the other immortals – Ancients and Wolves alike. He would die with a feeling of fulfilment.

Though he would have liked to have more children before the end, admittedly, to leave a proper legacy behind. He was convinced that Evangeline was the key, but it would have to wait. If Fenrir was still alive by next year, when everyone had forgotten about him, he would capture her again, one way or another.

And this time, he wouldn’t let her go.

* * *

Alice had never heard such brouhaha at an Ancient gathering.

Every single one of her peers was talking, if not shouting, except for Alice herself. The Bloodmother had yet to join them. Hopefully the ambient noise would recede once she made her entrance.

It'd been two weeks since Jeanne had been savagely murdered by the Wolf known as Greyback. Two weeks was the time it had taken to contact everyone and gather them all in the same place – not Scotland or France this time, but Germany, in the ancient city of Cologne. Zenobia owned a residence here, and it was easily accessible from the local airport and the main train station.

As she waited for the meeting to begin, Alice couldn't help but pick up bits and pieces of conversation.

“… _don’t understand why the beast is still alive_ …”

Because Alice didn’t know where Greyback was. Because Antonin would never forgive her if anything happened to his precious Evey.

Because killing the Wolf wouldn’t bring her Jeanne back.

The first few hours after her daughter’s demise, Alice had been shaking with rage and lust for immediate revenge, and she had been intent on ripping Greyback apart, no matter the consequences. Then grief had fully hit her, like taking a wrecking ball to the face. Alice had been practically brain-dead for two days, unable to process anything that was happening around her. The kids had left her on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her, and she hadn’t moved from her seat.

Then her brain cells had slowly sparked to life again, and Alice knew that she had to pull herself together, if she ever wanted to avenge Jeanne’s death.

Nothing good would come out of an open attack against Greyback, provided that he could be located. They had to deal with this situation rationally, to prevent more futile losses. Hence the present gathering.

“… _should have killed the hybrid when we had the chance_ …”

Evangeline. Her name was Evangeline, and killing her wouldn’t solve anything.

It wouldn’t bring Jeanne back.

“… _it’s all the fledgling’s fault…shouldn’t have been allowed to return to his brother in the first place_ …”

“The Wizard shouldn’t have been _turned_ in the first place!” Pat exclaimed, briefly drawing everyone’s attention to her. “I keep saying that! No one ever listens to me!”

Antonin had done nothing wrong. He always did what he thought was best – not for himself, but for the people he loved. He’d rushed to Hogwarts to assist his friends. No one could have guessed that Greyback would be there; the Wolf had never actively participated in a magical fight alongside Voldemort’s puppets before, according to Walden. Even the Death Eaters were uneasy around the Wolf, and Voldemort didn’t seem to trust him with anything important. Up until that fateful June night, Greyback had been a bully and a promise of violence in case of non-compliance, nothing more. His mere presence was usually enough to dissuade Voldemort’s opponents, but he always acted on his own.

“… _we don’t even have a body to bury_ …”

“… _had no idea it would_ evaporate _like that_ …”

Jeanne wanted to be cremated anyway. _Don’t let the maggots devour me_ , she’d told Alice not so long ago. In French, and with a fair amount of cussing, but that had been the gist of it.

Had Jeanne somehow foreseen her own, final death? Immortal beings were the least likely people to discuss funeral arrangements.

“… _have you talked to Alice?_... _me neither_ … _what could we possibly say in such circumstances?_...”

There was nothing to be said. Alice didn’t want to hear any of that ‘thoughts and prayers’ bullshit or paltry condolences. She didn’t want their pity. It wouldn’t comfort her – if anything, it would make her feel even more sorry about herself, and that was the last thing Alice needed right now.

“… _she’s obviously in shock_ … _poor thing_ … _I can’t even imagine_ …”

In shock? That was putting it mildly. _I can’t even imagine…_ No, you certainly couldn’t, Ching. No one possibly could. Jeanne felt like a phantom limb – Alice knew that she was dead, but somehow always ended up looking around the room to try to find her daughter. And every time, it hit her anew: Jeanne was gone. Forever lost to her. Alice was doomed to wander the earth, daughterless, for all eternity.

“… _and Imhotep is not doing any better, by the look of him_ …”

Imhotep. Alice had not talked to him yet. She was not ready; the loss was too recent, the pain too raw. If she talked to her maker now, she would fall apart.

“… _at least he has Gorgo_ … _Alice must be so lonely_ … _the Wizard is hardly fitting company_...”

Alice was actually surrounded by considerate people who cared about her, Antonin most of all. And yet she did feel inexplicably lonely. She had always been close to Jeanne. Perhaps too close. Would it hurt less if they hadn’t had such a strong mother-and-daughter relationship? If Alice had behaved as Catalina did with the Ripper, practically ignoring her even when they were in the same room?

“Not so lonely,” Liz said, her shrill voice cutting through Alice’s train of thoughts. “She has a pet Wolf now, doesn’t she?” All conversations quietened at that.

A pet indeed. Ted – Alice had finally given up on calling him anything longer than that, at his insistence – was like a giant teddy bear. After she’d nearly fainted in the bathroom, that night, he’d crushed her into an unwanted hug and had refused to let go for several minutes, claiming that she ‘needed it’. When he’d finally released her, he’d been annoyingly caring and attentive, even after she’d threatened to slice his throat open if he didn’t leave her alone. He hadn’t relented, not until Antonin had returned and the Wolf had deemed that Alice was now ‘in good hands’.

In truth, grieving together with Antonin had been difficult; the fledgling did his best to show none of his emotions, probably for Evey’s benefit. Lilith knew, the girl worried enough about him as it was. In any case, Alice had quickly found herself wishing for Ted’s loud and uncompromising commiserations, though she would never admit it to him or anyone else.

Ted was here today, but he'd been told to remain outside of the chamber until he was formally invited inside. Antonin was with him. Walden and Evey had not been invited at all. Alice wasn’t sure what to make of that; perhaps the Mother simply wished to avoid making Evey the centre of attention, when everyone should be focusing on Greyback.

“Show some respect,” Imhotep spoke into the heavy silence. “Keep your hurtful remarks to yourself for once, Elizabeth.”

The abhorrent woman sneered, satisfied that she’d hit a nerve, but she didn’t reply. People began murmuring again, but this time Alice emptied her mind and ignored it all. She’d heard enough.

A few minutes later, the door opened and revealed the Mother, resplendent as always in a silky magenta gown. Silence fell again. She glided toward her chair at the end of the long table and sat on a cushion, smoothing her dress meticulously before facing them all. “Zenobia, my daughter, thank you for lending us this room on such short notice.” Zenobia bowed her head in acknowledgement. “You all know why we are here,” the Mother went on. Everyone nodded politely.

The Mother opened her mouth to speak again, but was rudely interrupted by Catalina. “What we _don’t_ know,” she said harshly, “is what we are going to do about it. _¿Dónde está el Lobo maldito?_ Does the stinky pirate know? Where is the hybrid? What are we going to do about _her_?”

Alice didn’t consider herself a cowardly woman, but even she would have recoiled at the Mother’s glower. Catalina swallowed hard and averted her gaze, as though she’d only just realised that she’d interrupted the Bloodmother.

“Evangeline is alive and safe. And she will remain that way,” the Mother added firmly when several people began to whisper. “We have already lost one of ours. I will not allow the girl to come to harm.”

“She’s hardly one of us,” Darya muttered. “She’s tainted by the curse, more Wolf than Ancient.” The three women whom Alice – and Jeanne – used to refer to as “The Infernal Trio” acquiesced in assent. Cleopatra, Elizabeth and Catalina; these bitches were never up to any good, and it looked like they’d decided to include Darya in their little club. Alice couldn’t believe that the homicidal Russian woman was in any way related to Gorgo, who was kindness and common sense incarnate. For that matter, the Dragon was a lot more poised and civilised than his unlikely progeny.

Alice just couldn’t fathom why certain people had been deemed fit to become Ancients. Elizabeth, Darya and Catalina were all serial murderers, as was, obviously, “Jack” the Ripper. _They deserve a second chance_ , Gorgo had argued, but none of them had ever repented nor decided to better themselves, as far as Alice knew. More likely, the Queen had simply been running out of candidates. Very few mortals had the spark, and a surprising number of them were people with violent and/or immoral tendencies.

“I do not remember asking for your opinion on the subject, child,” the Mother said flatly. Darya bit her lip, but she stubbornly held the Bloodmother’s gaze for another three seconds before finally dropping it, pouting. The Mother looked around the table. “Most of you have not felt it. You have not experienced first-hand the sudden twist in your heart, the sensation of crushing emptiness at the death of one of your own bloodline. This void is still there. I doubt it will ever be filled again.” Alice briefly closed her eyes. She had no doubt about it; she would feel hollow for the rest of eternity. “I sincerely hope that none of you will ever experience it. My hearts bleeds for Alice and Imhotep.”

“If I may speak, Mother?” Vlad said quietly. She gestured for him to proceed. “We share in your grief, of course,” he told Alice and Imhotep, who were seated side by side. “Jeanne is irreplaceable. But do you not wish to avenge her?” He raised his hands preventively, anticipating arguments about Evey’s connection to the murderous Wolf. “We know that the Wolves have dealt with threats within their pack before.” He must be referring to Goldeneyes – Grigori Rasputin, Greyback’s maker. “I’m sure that Mr Teach…Thatch?…will be able to clarify what happened to his progeny, but I…” He must have caught Alice’s frown. “Will he not?”

Alice shook her head. “He was excluded from the trial. He has no idea what they did to him. But I think we can safely assume that they did not kill Rasputin. As far as we know, that is still impossible to achieve without us. And I, for one, am inclined to believe that Ted would have felt it, had Rasputin perished,” she murmured.

Vlad stroked his moustache thoughtfully. “Interesting, though equally disappointing. Mother, if I may enquire, what exactly is the Wolf Blackstripes doing here? Will he be…questioned? Does he know where Greyback is?”

“No one knows where Greyback is,” came the curt reply. “Edward is here as a show of good faith. Malkoran has commanded him to obey my every order, and to cooperate in any way he could.”

That left them all stunned, Alice included. She’d assumed that Ted was here as a close friend of Evey and Antonin, and possibly to weigh in on their options regarding Greyback. She wasn’t aware of Malkoran’s sudden reappearance and, judging by the others’ reactions, neither were they. Alice was mildly miffed that Ted hadn’t told _her_ , at least. After all, they’d travelled here together, with Antonin teleporting them across Europe, using the illegal Apparition network. “Why are Blackbeard and Antonin not attending this part of the meeting, Mother?” Alice asked, masking her anxiety as best she could.

“I did not want Edward to take part, not unless he was needed. Antonin is merely keeping an eye on him. I have discussed this with them. They understand.” _I hope you will, too_ , her look seemed to convey.

It made sense, but Alice still would have preferred to have at least Antonin at her side.

“Mother, I don’t mean to be rude, but since when is Malkoran involved in our affairs? I thought he’d retired,” the Ripper said bluntly.

The Mother pursed her lips. Whatever had happened, she still couldn’t stand the Wolves’ Alpha. “Since I pressured him to be involved. I do not trust his cubs to handle the situation. Not with Evangeline displaying so many Wolfish traits,” she said.

“You think they might try to claim her?” Vlad enquired.

The Mother nodded, but Liz, once again, spoke over her. In her seven hundred years of existence, Alice had never witnessed such rudeness toward the Original One. “Let the beasts have her, I say,” the harpy proclaimed. She received a few approving looks, and a lot of glares. “Why not? Can you think of a better way to settle this, without killing the hybrid or Greyback, without risking a war with the Wolves?” Several people shifted awkwardly on their seats. The Mother was staring blankly at Elizabeth, but she didn’t say anything, which seemed to encourage Liz. “Greyback wants her, yes? That’s all he wants. When you think about it, Jeanne’s death, while unfortunate,” – _Unfortunate?!_ Alice very nearly jumped out of her chair to strangle the bloody cunt, but Imhotep lay a hand on her arm, shaking his head a fraction – “was merely provoked by the fact that Greyback couldn’t get his hands on the girl. If we hadn’t ‘rescued’ the hybrid, Greyback wouldn’t have killed Jeanne,” Liz went on matter-of-factly. “So I say, let’s give her back to him. Darya’s right; she’s more Wolf than Ancient. She belongs to them. Let _them_ deal with her, and good riddance.”

Alice had not expected cheers or jeers, but the tense silence that followed Liz's statement was somehow even more daunting than either reaction. It felt as though they were actually considering this madness.

Alice had never been Evey’s greatest fan, but she’d gotten to know the girl fairly well. Evey had invited her to stay at the manor, after Jeanne died. And Alice had accepted. She had many places of residence all over the world, but all of them were desperately empty. Alice couldn’t bear to be alone at a time like this.

Evey didn’t deserve anything that had happened to her. Didn’t they understand that none of this mess was her fault? She hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t asked for her family to be butchered, for her entire life to be upended. She’d made the most of it, yes, but how could anyone blame her for that? Greyback would make her life a living hell, and once he had a hold on her, he would not let go. This time, there would be no rescuing her. Evey’s only way of escape would be death.

The Mother was right. They couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Alice certainly couldn’t afford it, and Evey’s death would likely mean that Antonin… Well, he wouldn’t _die_ , but…

Unless he asked Ted to…

No. No, surely he wouldn’t. Ted wouldn’t do it, anyway. He wouldn’t dare.

Gods, why was she even thinking about this? She should be paying attention to what the others had to say. Should make certain that nothing would sway the Mother’s resolve, unlikely as it was.

The sharpness in Alice’s voice broke through the hushed conversations that had followed Liz’s speech. “You said you didn’t trust the Wolves, Mother.” The Bloodmother fixed her gaze on her when she spoke. “Do you trust Malkoran?”

For the first time that Alice could remember, the Mother chuckled. It was a sound devoid of amusement, and instead filled with millennial resentment. “I trust that he has no choice. Malkoran knows that displeasing me in any way will mean war. I think that most of us, the ones among us who are still sane, at least,” she amended with a pointed look in Liz’s direction, “wish to avoid that at all costs. If we go to war, there will be losses on both sides. There will be no justice, no satisfying conclusion. Only blood and death.”

“So what do we do about Greyback, then?” Darya demanded.

“Until he can be rooted out, there is nothing to be done. The Wolf is not stupid. He knows that we’ll want revenge, and he is likely distrustful of his own kind, given what happened to his maker.”

“You want us to wait,” Cat blurted. “You want us to wait and do nothing, while the hybrid happily frolics on that giant estate of hers, with her mongrel husband, while Greyback bides his time until he can murder us all. While poor Alice grieves-”

“Oh for Lilith’s sake, will you shut up?!” Alice yelled, standing up, palms on the table. This was simply too much. She pushed away Imhotep’s hand when he attempted to get her to calm down. “You don’t get to say that. You have _no idea_ how I feel. You don’t even care that Jeanne is dead. You’re just pissed off that we bypassed your vote against turning Antonin, and then completely ignored you and your evil minions when you tried to have him and his brother executed last year. You’re just being _petty_. _You_ should never have been turned, you obnoxious, psychopa-”

There was a loud knock on the door, and Alice fell silent, the flow of carefully crafted insults dying on her tongue. She dropped back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, fuming. Cat was glowering at her, but Alice couldn’t have cared less.

After a few seconds, the Mother finally gestured for the Ripper, who sat closest to the door, to check on the caller.

Ted grinned at the Ripper. “Well, hello there.” Dear gods, was he _ogling_ her?

The silence could have been carved with one of the Ripper’s daggers. “What do you think you’re doing, interrupting us like that, you bloody mountain of a dog-spawned-” The Bloodmother quietly cleared her throat. The Ripper cut off abruptly, but she kept glaring at Ted.

“Yeah, sorry, but we couldn’t help but overhear,” the Wolf said. “I mean, we heard everything. I don’t know why you bothered to make us wait outside, really.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Might as well include us.” He cocked his shaggy head toward Antonin, who stood half-hidden behind him.

The Bloodmother eyed Antonin with an air of resignation. “I seem to remember asking you to magically ward the room against eavesdropping, child,” she said chidingly.

The fledgling didn’t appear apologetic at all as he held her gaze. “I seem to remember you promising that nothing would happen to Evey. Can you really ensure that these four creepy ladies won’t go behind your back?” he said with a vague gesture in Cat’s direction. Catalina glared murder at him, but he ignored her. “You let them spew nonsense as though we didn’t already have an agreement.”

“I was getting there,” the Mother retorted. For once, anger seeped through her apparent calm façade.

“If... I mean, as soon as we find Greyback, we capture him,” Antonin went on heedlessly, addressing everyone now. “Ted and I will conduct experiments. Evey has given her consent, and even Walden understands that it’s necessary.”

Alice remembered that particular conversation, just a few days ago. Walden’s “understanding” had been difficult to obtain and, even now, Alice doubted that he would allow anyone to harm either his wife or Greyback, if they ever got the opportunity to do so. Evey, on the other hand, had accepted without much hesitation. The girl must feel terribly guilty about Jeanne’s death to agree to this, which was simply ridiculous. Jeanne’s death was Jeanne’s own damn fault, and Greyback’s. She had no reason for being at Hogwarts that night – but then, if she hadn’t showed up when she did, Antonin would likely have been Greyback’s victim…

Either way, Alice would have lost someone dear to her, all because Jeanne was stubborn as a mule, overconfident, and refused to communicate like a normal person. If Alice had known what was going on at Hogwarts… If they’d both been there, with Ted as reinforcement…

But no amount of “ifs” would bring back her daughter.

Evey had aptly quoted one of her beloved fantasy novels the other day, and Alice ought to heed the advice: _“Let the dead rest, and care for the living.”_

Well, the living undead, in this case.

Blackbeard nodded in approval of Antonin’s words. “Malkoran is gathering all of his Wolves. One week from now, we will discuss the issue of Greyback sowing chaos and being a threat to us all, and the possibility of…dealing with him in a way that suits everyone. I will not bring up Evey’s peculiarities, and I doubt that Silverclaws or Demonslayer will.”

Alice mentally rolled her eyes at Evey’s indiscretion. The girl might as well have put an advertisement in the  _Daily Prophet_ to announce her ability to turn into a werewolf. “This is the only option that makes sense,” Alice concurred. “At this point, a war would only profit Greyback. Ancients and Wolves would kill one another while he safely awaits the outcome. If the Wolves were victorious, Greyback would likely attempt to become the remainder’s Alpha, and if we ‘won’, for lack of a better word, then he would eliminate the few stragglers one by one until he was the only immortal left in the world.”

“Indeed," the Mother said. "Edward will contact us after meeting with his kin,” she added, “but I do not expect much from it. Malkoran is apparently as powerless as we are, or so he claims.”

“It’s true,” Ted said. The Bloodmother scowled at him darkly, but he didn’t falter. “I told you before, no one will be able to find Greyback if he doesn’t want to be found. Old Mal is no exception, but I’m sure he will do his best to track him down regardless. If he gave you his word, he’ll do it.”

“You seem awfully confident,” Liz said with disdain. “This is the man who forsook you, who abandoned you, who made many mistakes and allowed for grievous oversights in the past century. Not the sort of man I would trust.”

“You don’t trust _any_ man,” Alice muttered.

“And rightly so,” the venomous Asp defended her ally. “What is Malkoran’s angle here? He retired…what, eighty years ago? How do we know that he has our best interests at heart, that Blackstripes is even on our side, that this is not a Wolfish scheme to-”

“Mal was not responsible for the mistakes that were made in this century,” Ted cut her off. His voice had lost its usual cheerfulness. “He didn’t abandon us. He gave up on the world at large, this screwed-up place where people kill other people for no reason. Eighty years ago he left, precisely. After the War.” He scoffed. “ _’The war to end all wars’_ , these naïve fools called it. You’re not exactly a youngling yourself, Miss Asp. How many conflicts have you witnessed? I know that many of my peers have opted for indifference. They choose not to care. They accept the senseless violence with bleak resignation. But some of us look at it all and wonder: Is humanity still salvageable? I held on to hope after the Great War, unlike Mal.”

Alice was captivated. She’d known the Wolf for months, but she’d never imagined that there could be such a depth to him. He was always so ridiculously optimistic, so boisterous. It was like hearing a completely different man speak. “Then we found out about the gas chambers,” Ted continued. “They bombed Hiroshima, Nagasaki. Several hundred thousand innocent people died in the blink of an eye. And for what?” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t blame Malkoran for retiring. How could I, when I’ve considered it myself? That would be utterly hypocritical.” There was a moment of silence, and even the Infernal…Quartet remained mercifully quiet. “For that matter, I find it difficult to blame Greyback for what he is, for what he did. The mortals nearly broke him, and Grigori finished the job. I’m not trying to excuse what he did. I’m just…I understand. But I know that I am partially to blame for his existence, and I promise you that I will do everything I can to stop him and bring him to justice in Jeanne’s name.” He looked at Alice when he said these last words.

“Thank you, Ted,” she acknowledged. “I trust that you will.”

“And I will protect Evey with my dying breath if I have to,” Ted added, turning his face toward Antonin.

“That won’t be necessary, mate,” Tony said, patting him on the back. “Nobody else is going to die. I won’t allow it.”

The Bloodmother rose from her seat, her long braid swaying lightly. “Then we are all in agreement.” She gazed at Cleopatra and Catalina, then at Darya and Elisabeth, on the other side of the table. They didn’t voice a protest. “The Wolves will attempt to track down their cub, and I suggest that Alice stay at Macnair manor with Edward until the threat has been dealt with. Keep watch on Evangeline. I doubt that Greyback will casually stroll within our grasp, but if he is going anywhere, it will be wherever the girl is. Keep her safe, and be on your guard at all times. I could not bear to lose another child.”


	71. Now I am asked to walk upon the earth again

Malkoran was frowning at the dilapidated front window of the pub where he was supposed to meet his Wolves. The _Unatoning Goose_ , it was called. A werewolf pub, Edward had assured him. Everyone inside would assume that they were a small pack of werewolf tourists.

Malkoran certainly would have no trouble posing as a tourist. He kept looking around him, eyes wide, occasionally gaping, as though he were some country bumpkin who’d never set foot in a city before.

And… Well, he had visited many grand cities in his lifetime, but…

Gods, everything was so different than he remembered. Was that bright red hunk of metal supposed to be some sort of automobile? Why were there empty beer bottles everywhere? Where were the cobblestones and the horse dung? Somewhere above him, rhythmic noise blasted out of a window. Malkoran had to assume that it was modern “music”, since he’d heard bits of it during the drive from the airport. Hannibal had arranged for a chauffeur to wait for him at the arrival lobby. Thankfully, the fare had already been paid for. Malkoran didn’t have any pound sterling on him, though Hannibal had provided him with some sort of card that supposedly allowed him to pay for a large array of things and services.

As for his journey from Tibet to England… That giant monster of an airplane had been large enough to accommodate several dozen people. And the security at the airport, people asking where he came from, why he was visiting... Thankfully, Hannibal had supplied him with a modern passport. According to the document, Malkoran’s name was Adam Pierson, born September 5, 1964 in Cardiff, Wales.

Adam. Oh, the irony. Hannibal had certainly chosen the name on purpose. After all, Malkoran pre-dated any mention of Adam, the so-called “first man”.

He stared at the pub’s glowing red sign for several minutes. He dreaded what awaited him inside. The looks of disappointment, the unspoken criticism, the contempt.

_You are still their Alpha. They cannot disrespect you, at least not to your face. The longer you wait, the harder it will be to walk inside that dingy building._

Eyes closed, Mal took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He repeated the meditation technique a dozen times, but felt not a bit calmer nor more confident. He would have to fake it, otherwise it would be a disaster. His Wolves could literally smell fear.

_One step forward._ His right foot moved hesitantly. _Good. Another._ The left followed just as shyly.

The door opened, and Mal realised that his eyes were still closed. He looked up to see Edward standing in the doorframe and filling it, effectively blocking Mal’s view of the pub’s interior. “Hey boss. We’re ready when you are.”

There was no turning back now.

* * *

The pub was quiet at this hour; it was barely 11 in the morning. There was only one patron other than the Wolves, and he was sitting at the bar, smoking a rolled-up cigarette. The bartender was idly polishing the counter, though the towel he was using seemed as dirty as the wooden surface. The interior stank of old tobacco, cheap ale and stale human sweat. Not a pleasant combination.

Malkoran avoided everyone’s gaze as he walked toward the empty seat at the end of the grimy tables that his cubs had assembled in a corner of the room, near a large green table that had several holes in it. He held his head high, chin up, hands nonchalantly plunged in the pockets of his trousers, but his show of confidence was lost on his pack. His gait was too stiff to project anything but discomfort.

He wished he could discard his brown leather jacket as soon as he reached the chair – he was suffocating with apprehension – but he could feel sweat trickling down his back; if he removed the jacket, everyone would notice the wet stain on his plain grey t-shirt.

He lifted his eyes slowly and did a quick count: they were all here, except Damian and Grigori, as expected. The seat to Malkoran’s right side was occupied by Ramesses, the one on the left by Hannibal; his two eldest. Edward sat across from Mal, at the other end of the tables. The others were seated haphazardly, as far as Malkoran could tell. To his right were Hunac, Miyamoto, Erik and Ivan, and to the left William, Attila, Hernán and Gilles.

They were all watching him expectantly. He had, after all, convened this meeting. It was expected of him to speak first, not to mention the fact that he was their Alpha, a fact of which Mal kept having to remind himself.

Despite his agitation, Malkoran took some time to study his cubs. There were a few that he hadn’t seen in centuries, like Attila and Hunac. They hadn’t changed much in appearance, of course, save for their modern haircuts and items of clothing – jeans and t-shirts, for most of them. Hannibal and William were the only ones wearing long-sleeved shirts, and Ramesses wore a formal tweed suit with a tie, like an old university professor.

Several Wolves coughed discreetly as the silence stretched, and Mal caught a few sneering half-smiles, quickly concealed behind a hand.

“Thank you all for meeting me here,” Mal said quietly. “I know that many of you live quite a long distance from Albion, and I apologise for the inconvenience.”

_Not Albion, you senile fool._ _England. They call it England. Great Britain. Burn you, it was already called that long before you retired._

To Mal’s knowledge, Edward was the only Wolf currently residing on British soil, but it made more sense to gather here, for Damian was still, likely as not, on the island.

“I hope…” Mal paused, too long, judging by their scowls and arched eyebrows. “I hope that you are all doing well.” No one sniggered out loud, but once again, some of them had trouble keeping a straight face.

Malkoran sighed and turned toward Ramesses – his oldest friend, his most trustworthy advisor. “Have you explained… That is, do they know…” Gods, he was stumbling over his own words. To be fair, he hadn’t spoken English in a long, long time, save the few sentences he had exchanged with Elle when she visited him in Tibet. He had expected to hear their native language, but she had apparently discarded it. Which was only sensible – nobody else but Mal would understand it, these days. It was so ancient, it didn’t even have a name. Historians and linguists alike had either never encountered it or, possibly, had amalgamated it with some other dead language.

Ramesses saved him from utter embarrassment by divining the meaning behind the unfinished sentences. “I thought it better to leave it to you to debrief the situation, Alpha.”

There were a few barely concealed scoffs at that, but Mal didn’t try to pinpoint their origin. It was only fair. “Yes. Indeed. Thank you, Ramesses.” He glanced at William and Hannibal. “And thank _you_. You stepped in when I most needed you. You did well.”

“Did they?” Ivan wondered aloud. “Because we seem to be having a lot of ‘situations’ since you…decided to take a trip to the mountains. Alpha.” He threw the title at the end of the sentence as an afterthought.

“First Goldeneyes, now Greyback…” Attila said. “Methinks we should have stopped making Wolves after Silverclaws.”

“After Edward,” Miyamoto corrected him.

“Oh, right.” The Hun chuckled. “I keep forgetting about that one.”

“I’m right here, mate,” Edward said good-naturedly, waving from his seat.

“Please,” Malkoran interceded. “There is no ground for incivility. It seems to me that you have heard what happened.” Attila had mentioned Greyback. “What Damian did.”

Only a few Wolves bothered to acquiesce. “Killed one of them bloodsucking ladies, is what we heard,” Ivan said with a leer.

“He did,” Malkoran confirmed gravely. “I hope that you understand just how dire the situation is.”

“I’m rather surprised at how cordially the Bloodmother behaved when she demanded to know your whereabouts, Alpha,” Hannibal said. “She was clearly upset, but she made no threats. May I ask what happened in Tibet? Why did she wish to talk to you personally, and why did you suddenly ask me to arrange for your return to civilisation?”

His expression was carefully guarded, but his tone suggested that he wasn’t too happy about it. Hannibal was a born leader; he liked to be in charge. If Mal had allowed it, Hannibal would have named himself Alpha in his stead, presiding over the entire pack, without bothering with two superfluous intendants.

“We could have handled the issue ourselves, All-father,” William concurred. Malkoran very nearly winced. Erik had come up with that alternative title some centuries ago, but the reference to Norse mythology reminded Mal too much of the demon who was responsible for his curse. “There is no need to trouble yourself-”

“On the contrary,” Ramesses interrupted him. “I think it is vital for Malkoran to take part. This is a very unusual situation. Never has something so vile ever happened, not since I was transformed. What Grigori did pales in comparison to this horrendous crime. The Mother would be within her rights to demand Greyback’s head.” He nodded to Malkoran. “I assume that this is what we are here to discuss, Alpha.”

“Within her _rights_? Are you out of your bloody mind?!” Ivan exclaimed, staring at Ramesses in shock. “We can’t surrender one of our own to the leeches!” He turned to Mal. “I thought we were here to talk battle plans!”

“Aye,” Attila said. “About time we rid the world of those pasty vermins. Greyback did us a favour, eliminating one of the most vicious of those bitches-”

Bitches? That was an old derogatory term, but Mal had never heard it spoken with such…casualness. He assumed that the word had somehow become a popular insult. “You will refrain from using that sort of language,” he snapped. “Ramesses is correct. We are here to discuss Greyback’s punishment, not to start an all-out war.”

“Punishment?” Attila scoffed. “The cub didn’t do anything wrong! Isn’t it our destiny, our gods-given _mission_ , to annihilate the vampires? We loathe them, and they return the sentiment. I’d feel a lot more comfortable knowing that we’re the only immortals on this planet. I don’t like sharing.”

Attila didn't like anything except conquering. Malkoran had had to be quite firm to force the cub to give that up, after he was transformed. But “no more plundering” had been one of the conditions to become a Wolf, and Attila had deemed immortality a greater source of power than anything else he could achieve as a mere mortal warrior.

Malkoran shook his head. “Gods-given? You know our history, Attila. The gods were never involved in any part of it. Our supposed enmity with the Ancients is purely visceral; there’s no logical reason for it. The demons made us this way. It’s part of the curse.” Attila snorted at the comment. Few of them considered it a curse.

“The lady Jeanne did not deserve to die. She was only protecting her cub,” Ramesses added. “Greyback was warned repeatedly that he ought to be more discreet. In hindsight, his involvement with the dark wizard known as Voldemort should not have been permitted. I’m afraid that we were too lenient with the youngling, after what happened to his maker.”

Malkoran had long debated the question of whether he wanted to know or not, but it seemed relevant to ask at this point. “What exactly happened to Grigori? What did he do?”

Hannibal had kept him vaguely informed over the past decades, but Mal hadn’t paid much attention, hadn’t requested details. He had fully trusted his lieutenants to handle delicate situations on his behalf. Mal knew that Grigori had been “disposed of”, but in what manner, precisely? What had decided the temporary pack leaders to take such drastic measures?

His main reason for asking was not to debate their decision. He wanted to judge if the same punishment might be applied to Greyback – provided that Elle found it acceptable. Mal would rather not have to kill Greyback if it was not entirely necessary. He was looking for alternative solutions.

“What did he do?” Hernán scoffed, as though he couldn’t quite believe how blatantly ignorant Mal was.

“My cub tried to trigger World War III, Alpha,” Edward replied sheepishly. “He was advising both sides during the Cuban missile crisis. He would have unleashed nuclear hell if we hadn't stopped him.”

Most of that explanation made no sense to Malkoran. Nuclear? He was not familiar with the word, but he assumed it was bad.

Wait a second.

“World War…Three?” he repeated slowly. “Was there another… I mean…” He had decided to leave after the Great War – a war on a scale larger than anything he had ever witnessed, involving multiple nations across the entire world and causing so much death and suffering in such a short period of time that Mal didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed. Or both.

In any case, it had convinced him that the mortals were a lost cause. He might as well retire and await humanity’s final moments in peace. Hopefully he would die with this world. That was how he felt, back then.

Before Ellessin's sudden reappearance in his life.

“Whiptail, I thought you’d made regular reports to him,” William chided his elder. “How does our Alpha not know about the Second World War?”

A Second World War. And yet… And yet somehow, the humans lived on. In fact, if his short time in public spaces these past few days was any indication, Malkoran would even say that they were thriving. They seemed more numerous than ever.

He had to admit that they were more resilient than he’d given them credit for. Though perhaps it was not exactly a good thing; they fought and fought, over and over again, and always they survived, but they never seemed to learn anything from their battles and wars. They just kept on fighting and surviving, never truly living.

_Focus. You can catch up on recent history and philosophise later._

“Why would Grigori do something like that?” he asked eventually.

Ivan shrugged. “Who knows? The fellow was never quite right in the head. He probably just wanted to destroy the mortals and have this stupid rock all to himself, to share only with the cockroaches.”

Mal had only met Grigori once, a few weeks after the Russian had been turned. He’d appeared sane enough. He exuded charisma. By then, however, the world was plunged into war (the _First_ War, apparently) and Malkoran was already considering leaving it all behind. He hadn’t heeded the warning signs.

“I see,” Malkoran said, though he didn’t, not quite. “What did you do to him, then?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” Edward grumbled.

The others exchanged uncomfortable glances. Even Hannibal and William appeared ill at ease. It was eventually Ramesses who answered. “In truth,” the former pharaoh began hesitantly, “I am not sure, Alpha. Fenrir made him go away.” The tables trembled as he spoke, rattling their glasses, and several lanterns flickered in the pub. Um, lamps? Lightbulbs? Gods, there was electricity _everywhere_. “He promised that no harm would come to Grigori. That he wouldn’t kill him. Just as you requested, Alpha.”

Malkoran frowned in confusion, still half-distracted by modern commodities. “Fenrir?” He repeated the name with great reluctance, but nothing happened this time. “You mean Greyback? I don’t-”

Ramesses looked away guiltily. Oh, bugger. No, they couldn’t have. They couldn’t be foolish enough to…no, _crazy_ enough to…

Especially wise, rational Ramesses… Cunning Hannibal, prudent William… His finest cubs, and yet they had… “You _summoned_ Him? You summoned Him _intentionally_?” Malkoran stammered, his voice rising with incredulity. “I can’t believe…” He trailed off. He didn’t even know what to say.

“You said not to kill him, so we couldn’t request a favour from the Ancients, as we’d planned to do originally,” Hannibal pointed out. He sounded uncharacteristically defensive.

He was talking about execution. So that had been their initial course of action: to simply have Grigori executed by Ellessin, or one of her people. If Ramesses had not decided to travel all the way to Tibet to inform Malkoran of the situation and ask for his input, Grigori would be dead. They were just as bad as the mortals, if not worse.

“We had to improvise, Alpha,” William added. “What else were we supposed to do? You gave us an order, but no specific instructions.”

Malkoran stared at him and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it quickly, trying to think. Had it been his decision to make, Mal wouldn’t even have considered involving the demon. It wouldn’t have occurred to him at all. Whenever possible, he did his best to forget that the demon existed.

And yet William’s question was legitimate. What else could they do, under the circumstances? Without Mal’s guidance, they had opted for the solution they deemed fittest.

If Mal had paid more attention to Ramesses when he’d visited and had actually bothered to deal with the problem himself… Well, it was too late now. Mal would simply add it to his mounting pile of regrets and contemplate it whenever sleep eluded him.

“So he’s really alive?” Edward spoke into the silence.

William briefly turned his attention toward him. “We…trust that he is. Wherever he may be.”

“You can’t believe anything the demon told you,” Malkoran said, his jaw clenched. “What did He say exactly? And what did He demand in exchange for this…service?”

“Nothing,” William replied hastily. Malkoran could tell that he was lying. The Conqueror was lying to his Alpha’s face.

Hannibal shot the cub a warning look. “Fenrir said…” He gasped softly when his glass exploded in front of him, spilling the remains of his stout. He quickly dabbed himself with a silky handkerchief. It appeared to be embroidered with his initials.

“He said that he was happy to oblige but that we, I quote, ‘would pay for it eventually’,” Ramesses finished for him.

“That sounds more like an ominous threat than a promise to receive an invoice sometime in the future,” Mal remarked.

Gods, what had they done? Never, ever involve demons in mortal _or_ immortal affairs. That was practically Malkoran’s only rule as their Alpha. Well, that and ‘thou shalt not kill thy distant bloodthirsty relatives’.

They had managed to break both rules in Malkoran’s absence.

Clearly, Ivan and Attila had a point: Mal should either delegate better, or be a proper Alpha.

He itched to bury his head in his arms in sheer frustration but, if he allowed himself even a second of weakness, his Wolves would eat him alive. Perhaps literally so.

What a pickle.

There was one thing Mal knew for certain: Greyback may have done a terrible thing, but this form of punishment was out of the question. They would have to come up with something else. “Does anyone have any idea where Greyback is now?” he asked tiredly. “Any clue at all?”

Ivan narrowed his eyes at him. “If we did, what would you do? Rat him out to the corpses?”

“Our cub, our problem,” Attila concurred. “Even if I agreed with you on the fact that he’s committed any crime, Alpha, and I do _not_ , what you’re implying is wrong. We can’t surrender him to the Bloodmother. You know she’ll kill him.”

“And you don’t want that, do you, boss?” Ivan added shrewdly. “You said not to kill Grigori, whatever he may have done, so why should we treat Greyback any differently? He’s still one of ours.”

“Ellessin has sworn to me that no harm would come to him,” Malkoran explained. Too late, he realised he shouldn’t have said that.

Really, it should have been obvious.

“She’s got him wrapped around her little finger, uh?” Hunac said in a low voice, though not quite low enough. Mal was almost certain that the regular werewolf who served as bartender had heard him.

“We don’t take no order from no woman,” Gilles muttered in that thick accent of his. Hernán elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough that his progeny spilled some ale on the table.

“She _swore_ , eh?” Ivan repeated with a smirk. “Well that’s just peachy then. Let’s forget about the past millennia of ambient loathing and distrust and assume that the lady Ellessin only wants what’s best for us regardless of her thirst for revenge.”

Malkoran looked around the tables. Ramesses appeared sympathetic, but Mal could read the disapproval in Hannibal’s hard eyes. William kept glancing at his watch as though he had more important things to do, better places to be. The others reeked of disdain and disgust at Mal’s incompetence. Edward was glaring at his mug of ale like it had insulted him. Only Miyamoto looked composed. His face was carefully blank, his scent neutral.

The fact that several of them were looking Mal dead in the eyes was in itself disturbing. They were all highly dominant – more so than any mortal werewolf – but Malkoran was still their Alpha, curse them. They ought to show proper deference, or fake it at the very least. It was like they were looking for a fight, like they were hoping for a chance to finally take Mal down and replace him with someone they deemed strong and worthy of solo leadership.

Of course, they couldn’t kill him, but if they humiliated him in a fight, stepping down would be the smartest choice. No one would take him seriously after that.

How Ellessin would mock him if she could see him now. _You’re pathetic. Weak._

Mal had to do something. _Be proactive. Remind them of who you are._

He stood and leaned forward, placing his palms on the beer-soaked table where Hannibal’s glass had shattered a moment ago. A few shards pierced his skin, but he paid them no attention. He fixed Ivan, who was still wearing that unpleasant smile of his. The man did not flinch. “Do you wish to formally challenge me to a duel, cub?” Malkoran demanded, his voice low but harsh.

Ivan blinked, his smile melting away, and his immediate neighbours shifted nervously, their eyes reflexively seeking the nearest inanimate object. “I…”

Mal ignored him and faced Attila instead. “How about you?” The Hun faltered, dropping his gaze. Everyone else took a sudden interest in the cracks and stains of their respective table. The only sound in the pub was the muted commentary of the sport game displayed on a mysterious glowing box at the bar. Mal had one such device in his hotel room, but no idea what purpose it served.

He straightened up and casually brushed off the small pieces of glass embedded in his palms. “I have failed you. I am not denying that. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was deluding myself. You need me. You are nothing without me. You are like helpless children playing at being adults, mimicking common sense and wisdom as though the very concept was something out of the imaginary. I blame myself for the troubles that have arisen, but that is not, and never will be, an excuse for poor behaviour on your part. You will give me the respect that is my due as your Elder. I _made_ you. Without me, you are nothing,” he said again.

No one spoke. No one dared.

“You will all take a sabbatical from whatever activities you have going on," he went on. "I want each and every one of you on the lookout for Damian. If you spot him, do not engage. Report to me directly. Do not approach the Ancients under any circumstances unless I command you to do so. Until the situation is resolved in a way _I_ see fit, in agreement with Lady Ellessin, you will not relent in your hunt for Damian. If you so much as contemplate the idea of disobeying me, deserting, or alerting Damian, you will envy Grigori’s fate.”

Malkoran could smell their fear – a welcome addition to the collective stink of the place.

“Edward, you will continue to act as my intermediary with the Ancients.” Ellessin refused to see Mal in person until Greyback was brought to her in chains. “Obey the Bloodmother as you would myself.” Once again, Mal surveyed his assembled cubs. “Whether you like it or not, the vampires are not our enemies.” He let out a mirthless chuckle. “You would have us at war against them. You poor dim-witted souls. They would eat us all for breakfast. Ellessin alone would tear through our ranks like a tornado before you even had time to transform.”

“We’re stronger than any of those-” Attila cut off abruptly, slumping in his chair. “Apologies, Alpha. I did not mean to speak out of turn,” he mumbled.

Malkoran allowed himself a satisfied twist of the lips. They would undoubtedly require more disciplining before this sad affair was resolved but, for now at least, they were subdued. “Strength is not everything, cub. Ellessin is quicker than lightning and sly as a fox. She is a mother protecting her children. After what happened to Jeanne, believe me, you do not stand a chance against her.”

As he made his way back to his hotel room, leaving his Wolves to talk behind his back if they dared, Malkoran replayed his own words in his head. _Ellessin has sworn to me that no harm would come to him._

No wonder his cubs had laughed it off. It didn’t make any sense. Why did she want Damian alive? Mal had asked himself that question many times since he’d come down the mountains. Edward had not been able to provide a satisfying answer, though Mal suspected that he knew more than he let on.

As far as Mal could guess, Ellessin _needed_ Damian, for some obscure reason. She wouldn’t have promised not to hurt him if she intended to have him executed as soon as Mal brought him in. She was a lot of things, his Elle, but her word was her bond.

Malkoran groaned internally. Most likely, she was simply twisting the meaning behind her apparently straightforward promise. In other words, she was manipulating him into doing her bidding. But why? After all this time, why? She had sought him out, had practically begged for his assistance. She had been relatively polite. She hadn’t even tried to kill him, not once.

She must be quite desperate.

Mal wished he knew more. He wished Elle would trust him and confide in him, so that he could help her, comfort her. Make her his again, as it should be.

She was his soulmate. She was his one and only. Without her, _he_ was nothing. He couldn’t be a proper leader until he was whole again. They couldn’t hope to unite Wolves and Ancients until Elle and he were together. Until she forgave him.

Well, they were immortal. Mal had always known that it would take time, but they _would_ be reunited.

It had been foretold.

* * *

_Aeons ago..._

After the debacle he had caused and Ellessin's consequent departure, Malkoran had wandered the world aimlessly for many a full moon, and had eventually found himself at the Seer's hut once again.

He had half-expected her to have died a long time ago, but he wondered if perhaps their sacrifice, committed at her suggestion, had earned her a few extra years. Demon-worshipper indeed. Her appearance had not altered in the interval since their first encounter, although her great-granddaughter was now a hunched old woman.

"And here he comes again, Malkoran the Wanderer," the Seer greeted him slyly.

"I would kill you," Mal murmured, "but I fear you would feel more at home in the place you are destined to reach."

"Oh, no such place awaits me, Cursed One. The gods of the underworld and I have an...arrangement. I paid the price. I keep paying it. My first born son...then all the ones who came after him. This one" - the bed-ridden crone indicated her younger kin - "is but a husk. Her soul was traded before she took her first breath. Her own great-grandchildren will be next."

"Is it worth the cost?" Malkoran asked her softly.

She made a sound between a groan and a snort. "Oh no, not quite. Immortality is a curse, as you will soon come to realise, if you have not already. But there is no coming back from what you have done, Betrayer. We made our bed, as they say."

Mal wasn't familiar with the phrase, but the Seer saw into the future, as her…title indicated. Perhaps it had not yet been invented.

He wasn’t certain what had brought him here. He had no words for the one who had deceived them and ruined their lives. As he turned to depart, however, the hag called after him.

"One shall come to bring you together again, the Wolf and the Undead One. She will unite you." The Seer smiled unpleasantly. "Despair not, Malkoran Fenrirson, for brighter days are ahead."

"How far ahead?" he demanded, shuddering at the use of His name. "Who shall come?"

"A young girl, from a land that has yet to be named, in an age yet to come."

"An age yet to come? _When?_ " Mal repeated forcefully. "Enough with the riddles, beldam!"

The Seer snorted contemptuously. "You will lead a wretched, pathetic existence, Cursed One, until this one reunites you with the woman who holds your heart. But many a spring shall pass until that day, more than even I can foresee."

Malkoran had heard enough. Lies, deceit, empty promises: it was all the Seer would give him.

Her malicious cackle followed him out of the hut, an echo reminiscent of a bygone age.


End file.
